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