Hoofbeats cling into rhythm of the jolting of a cart The coachman's cowl that flutters Like the owl's wing through the night Bears something in its purple hem That hides behind the coachman's face He smells the wind - he feels his aim Goes anywhere and back again.
Two blinded eyes shine a scaring light The nights ain't dark for all of us
No demand nor her permission What he does is what he knows Who'd take care of his old vision If he didn't care
