Your family is haughty   And rightly so, yet wrongly lowly   No gold in store, but a trove of lore   So right, so wrong, and nearly holy      I would love to go along with you   I would love to be your fellow traveller   If that's not to be, then it's not to be   And instead I'll be your yarn unraveller      It is the wound unstaunchable   It is the healthy woman's ailing   It is the ship unlaunchable   And yet forever doomed to sailing      And also the harp of triple song   Liberator, Lancer and Marauder   And also the aze of double blade   Cleaving in and in between disorder      What sisterhood has joined together   No brother feud can ever sever      And when will you come back again?   Will I see you on some future ocean?   Or roving in some former glen?   Or just whenever you take the notion?      When weeping men and women break   And reassemble in a jumble   When the true pretender lose his throne   When the humble be proud and the proud be humbled      Now Pastor Glass has passed away   And the sponges have absorbed the Aegean   I will hitch a ride on an endless wine   From what must be fled I will ever be fleeing