老市场。

 




A Perfect Indian is he. Remembering him life is sweet
Like a weeping willow, his face on my pillow comes to me still in my dreams
And there I saw a young baby, a beautiful daughter was she
A face from a painting, red cheeks and teeth aching
Her eyes like a wild Irish sea

On a table in her yellow dress for a photograph feigned happiness
Why in my life is that the only time that any of you will smile at me?

I'm sailing on this terrible ocean. I've come for my self to retrieve
Too long have I been feeling like Lir's children
And there's only one way to be free

He's shy and he speaks quietly. He's gentle and he seems to me
Like the elf-arrow. His face worn and harrowed. Is he a daydreamer like me?

I'm sailing on this terrible ocean. I've come for my self to retrieve
Too long have I been feeling like Lir's children
And there's only one way to be free