Where the trees bend with the breeze
And the fog rolls off the sea
Fading sounds of innocence
Softly muted by the steam
Through the air the steel it screams
Tears the fabric at its seams

Rising Sun in the street
Chasing horses in a dream
Twenty-something, tall and lean
Or was it just nineteen?
Through the air the whip it cracks
Grabs a life and takes it back

Cutting down the willow tree
Hear the cries of death in spring

Mother crying from the coast
A father’s son, lonely ghost
Pushing off across the bay
Dying light fade away
Through the air their lingering cries
The changing wind dry their eyes

Cutting down the willow tree
Hear the cries of death in spring