At the Table
Father at the head,
Its time for the meal.
Mother calls me in,
Its time for the meal.
My younger sister,
Dark flowing hair,
Grandmother complains,
Its time for the meal.
Hey, young man
And I am still so young for such sorrow.
Lets leave these worries, lets tend to living.
Or else death or something much like it
Will sweep us away, young man, before weve seen life.