There's a dry wind blowing this way
Shaken the fields and the graves
Under pressure like an earthquake
Flood came took them all away
The day is coming, gather the proud
And the wicked burn like an oven
Two women grinding at the mill
Two men working in the field
Going to purge the floor with a fiery fan
Gather the wheat with His mighty hand
There's the chaff it's going to be burned
But He says gather the tares first.