Can it be I’m just a weird memory that never happened?
But we’ll never know now.
Or can it be I died a fearless king that never rationed off equality rings?
And those fingers were dangerous things; invisible, and sharp as knives?
And when they touched those Uillean pipes, they ran off false love, hearts and minds, to the river, the Greenland, the seaside; They’re gone now, time is wasting.
I was the fisher, the sea-hand, the reviled anchor.
Time is wasting; the world was perfect the way that it was.
Will you wait for me, wait for me, wait for me?
Come on now, time is wasting. The world was perfect the way that it was.