September 17th, for a girl I know it's mothers day,
Her son has gone alee, and that's where he will stay,
Wind on the weathervane, tearing blue eyes sailor mean,
As Falstaff sings a sorrowful refrain, for a boy in fiddlersgreen,

His tiny knotted heart, well I guess it never worked too good,
A timber tore apart, and the water gorged the wood,
You can hear her whispered prayer, for men at mass that alwayslend,
The same wind that moves her hair, moves a boy through fiddlersgreen,

Nothing's changed anyway, ah nothing's changed anyway, ahanytime, today,

He doesn't know a soul, and there's nowhere that he's reallybeen,
But he won't travel on alone, no not in fiddlers green,
Balloons all filled with rain, as children's eyes turn sleepymean,
And Falstaff sings a sorrowful refrain, for a boy in fiddlersgreen.