September seventeen for a girl i know it's mother's day here 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 fiddler's green his tiny knotted heart well, i guess it never worker too good the timber tore apart and the water gorged the wood you can hear her whispered prayer for men at masts that always lean that the same wind that moves her hair moves a boy through fiddler's green he doesn't know a soul and 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
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