The sun is going down over this northern town,
And I feel like I’ve been around this place forever.
But tomorrow I’ll be gone, following that same sun.
There are some things though that distance cannot sever.
Fair blows the wind for France,
Fair blows the wind for Spain.
I’ll be drinking wine in the warm sunshine
Instead of working in the rain.
With an old guitar in hand,
And somewhere warm to stand.
Fair blows the wind for France,
Fair blows the wind for Spain.
My Dad he died too soon, in a lifetime’s afternoon,
So he never got the chance to see his evening.
But in our cages there are stars, if we just know where they are.
So I can celebrate his living without grieving.
The chimney’s blowing smoke, and there’s worn holes in my coat.
A letter from an old friend in my pocket.
With memories and ghosts and the things that matter most.
I can put them somewhere safe and never lock it.