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.