When the time comes And the last day dawns And the air of the piper warms The high crags of the old country When the holy wind blows Like burned paper away And wise men concede That there’s more than one way More than one path More than one book More than one fisherman More than one hook
When the cats have all been skinned And the fish have all been hooked When the masters of war Are our masters no more
When old friends take their whiskey Outside on the porch Raise a glass to their comrades Who carry their torches We will have done well If we’re able to say As the sun settles down On that final day That we never gave in That we did all we could So the kids could go fishing In crystal clear brooks
That we never gave in That we did all we could So the kids could go fishing In crystal clear brooks
