Gallant is the hunter
Gallant is the sheep
Gallant is the honer of the secrets that you keep
Grievous is the fortune teller's tune that you bequeath
She fills her sorrow's sonder with the gallows of her grief
Hungry is the widow
Hungry is the farm
Hungry is the lonely lover's gallant waiting arm
Held at latitude so long to long along the way
He stands there till tomorrow standing yet another day
Hopeless is the hungry
Hopeless is the small
Hopeless is the mother lying laughing in the stall
Wayside sits her child barely walking for to crawl
Until she too is beckoned as she wanders in the hall
Tomorrow none are hopeless
Tomorrow's what we seek
Tomorrow all the hungry gather forth with forks of meat
And dig their hands in stoutly stew
To eat they'll take the heat
And as it burns their fingers, they'll feel it for a beat
And as the burning lingers, here comes the gallant feat
For bell tones buying ringers, morrow's lost in long retreat
