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Day after day alone on the hill, |
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The man with the foolish grin is keeping perfectly still, |
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But nobody wants to know him, |
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They can see that he's just a fool, |
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And he never gives an answer, |
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But the fool on the hill |
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Sees the sun going down, |
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And the eyes in his head, |
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See the world spinning around. |
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|
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Well on his way his head in a cloud, |
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The man of a thousand voices talking percetly loud |
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But nobody ever hears him, |
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Or the sound he appears to make, |
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And he never seems to notice, |
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But the fool on the hill . . . |
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Nobody seems to like him |
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They can tell what he wants to do. |
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And he never shows his feelings, |
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But the fool on the hill . . . |
