| Well come gather around me friends of mine |
| While I sing to you about a minstrel band |
| Of children in their witches hats |
| Painting pictures with the pipes of pan |
| How a young boy and his sister played some tunes |
| Upon a whistle made of tin |
| And led me through the flower gardens |
| Laughing at the postman’s stubby chin |
| And in my dizzy stupor |
| I was trying to forfeit all I’d known |
| And listen to that music that could swirl me in a magic all it’s own |
| But somewhere in the distance |
| You and I, we fought our monsters to a draw |
| It was in those days of books and wine |
| With Ferlin Getty grasping for a straw |
| And out along the highways |
| We journeyed far to find that mystic smile |
| Chasing down identities |
| My God we must have run a million miles |
| So we can teach the children |
| Nothing, nothing but survival in the desert bare |
| They can teach us how to laugh |
| How to love and tie bright ribbons in our hair |
| So sing for us you children |
| Tinkle bells and rhyme the purple, greens and blues |
| Think of us as fighting fools |
| Who wintered through our seasons loving you |
| Think of us as fighting fools |
| Who wintered through our seasons loving you |
| Cause you can teach us how to laugh |
| How to love and tie bright ribbons in our hair |