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 Fiddler's Green,
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 always lend,
The same wind that moves her hair, moves a boy through Fiddler's Green,
Nothing's changed anyway, ah nothing's changed anyway, ah anytime, today,
He doesn't know a soul, and there's nowhere that he's really been,
But he won't travel on alone, no not in Fiddler's Green,
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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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