The Fisher King

I went down by the river side,
that runs between the hazelle’d halls,
And on an apple blossome’d hill,
I slept beside the golden falls.

And as I wandered far from sleep,
the Fisher King flashed blue on grey.
I heard a voice come from the deep,
and call my name from far away.

Rain won't wash away the memories,
and the wind won't hide her perfume,
But it blows.

I linger by the western sea,
I hear the horseman riding past.
Young dreams I dreamt are gone from me,
like summer whispers in the grass.

Rain won't wash away the memories,
and the wind won't hide her perfume,
But it blows.
Rain won't wash away the memories,
and the wind won't hide her perfume,
But it blows.