|
September seventeen |
|
For a girl I know it's Mother's Day |
|
Her son has gone alee |
|
And that's where he will stay |
|
The wind on the weathervane |
|
Tearing blue eyes sailor mean |
|
As Falstaff sings a sorrowful refrain |
|
For a boy in Fiddler's Green |
|
His tiny knotted heart |
|
Well, I guess it never worked to good |
|
The timber tore apart |
|
And the water gorged the wood |
|
You can hear her whispered prayer |
|
For men at masts that always lean |
|
The same wind that moves her hair |
|
Moves her boy through Fiddler's Green |
|
Nothing's changed anyway |
|
Nothing's changed anyway |
|
Any time today |
|
He doesn't know a soul |
|
There's nowhere that he's really been |
|
But he won't travel long alone |
|
No, not in Fiddler's Green |
|
Balloons all filled with rain |
|
As children's eyes turn sleepy mean |
|
And Falstaff sings a sorrowful refrain |
|
For a boy in Fiddler's Green |
