| Atop the crags and cliffs the air is thin
|
| So we’ll find a mountain path on down the hill
|
| Meet me where the snowmelts flows
|
| It is there, my dear, where we’ll begin again
|
| Skipping stones, braiding hair
|
| Last years antlers mark the trail
|
| Take us back, Oh! |
| take us back, Oh! |
| take us: Take us back!
|
| Take us back, Oh! |
| take us back, Oh! |
| take us: Take us back!
|
| I’ve a friend who lives out by the rivers mouth
|
| He knows the fiddle’s cry is an old sound
|
| A lonesome bow, the creaks and moans of empty houses
|
| Are songs like falling rain
|
| Wind blown buildings, muddy ground
|
| The strength of water can sink a man
|
| Take us back, Oh! |
| take us back, Oh! |
| take us: Take us back!
|
| Take us back, Oh! |
| take us back, Oh! |
| take us: Take us back!
|
| When the higher hills have turned to blue
|
| And the waves are lapping where the children grew
|
| All that we have known will be an echo
|
| Of days when love was true
|
| Muted voices, just beyond
|
| The silent surface of what has gone |