| There’s a man down in the valley
|
| Who doesn’t speak in his own tongue
|
| He bears a grudge againt the English
|
| The tune to which his songs are sung
|
| There’s a man down in the valley
|
| Who is moving back in time
|
| It’s a physical ascension
|
| You can watch him as he climbs
|
| The farmer’s wives are at their windwos
|
| They’ve seen him wind his way for hours
|
| They tell the kids to lower their voices
|
| And pretend that they are out
|
| There’s a man down in the valley
|
| Trying to stop time in its tracks
|
| His boots lie heavy on the grasses
|
| But it keeps on pushing back
|
| And his wife, she was a painter
|
| But now she stains the altar black
|
| He’s out bird watching on the islands
|
| And she wishes he’d come back
|
| There’s a man down in the valley
|
| And he dreams of moving west
|
| Of battles raged against the furies
|
| That might see him at his best
|
| There’s a man down in the valley
|
| Don’t know his right foot from his left
|
| Don’t know his right foot from his left |