Silage Time in the Borders

Early dawn, engines roar, the countryside awakes

Fendt and Deere at work, the harvest train it takes

Chasing time through rolling hills, shadows cast by dawn

It's silage time in the borders, till the day is gone

Fields of green, let it turn gold, machines in harmony

Fendt's steady hand, Deere’s might, in the morning’s symphony

Massey’s roar, pushing through, hauling all the way

Grass laid flat, ready for feed, in the warm light of day

Rumbling roads, fill up the breeze, the farmers’ pride and toil

Heavy loads, heading home, in the early sunlight’s spoil

Through the borders wide and free, where the brave hearts roam

This is their time to work and grind, this land they call their own

Silage time, on the borders, where the engines sing

Harvest of the countryside, hear the bells that ring

From heavy tractors to the open sky, they make their stand

It's the heartbeat of the farmland, across the land

Underneath the gray clouds, rain or shine, they never quit

Legacy in every load, every piece of grit

From dawn to dusk, their story told in the rolling fields

In the grit and grease, their passion yields

As the sun sets low, quiet now, the day’s work done

Fendt, Deere, Massey pride, united as one

Silage in the containers, dreams are stored away

Till the dawn of another day, on the rustic bay