September seventeen. For a girl I know it's Mother's 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. The timber tore apart. And the water gorged the wood. You can hear her whispered prayer. For men at masts that always lean. That same wind that moves her hair. Moves a boy through Fiddler's Green. Ohhhh nothing changed anyway. Ahh nothing's changed anyway. Ahh anytime the day. He doesn't know a soul. And there's nowhere that he's really been. But he won't travel long alone. No not in Fiddler's Green. 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.