I come from the moor and the mointain, from the waterfall and stream.
Ive turned my back on the mountain track; Im walking in a dream.
And evry new horizon to mee it looks the same
But evrywhere looks old and bare while travling on the plain.
Theres no-one rides this road with me, a plainsman rides alone.
The welcome waits by a city gate, no voice to call me home.
Alone I came into this place, and that is how I will go
And all I learn is the seasons turn, thats all I need to know.
Oh the world is hung with silver tongues wiht good advice to give.
If you cant show me how to die, dont tell me how to live.
The plainsmans song, though its seldom long, its more than meets the ear
And all I believe is the falling leaves at the turning of the year.
