When

When I`m sixty-eight, and I`m travelling by the mountains
When in a place between the middle of our own way
When you can hear a wine flute from beyond
What can you see within a flight?

Where my home is done there`ll be fields of willow and chaff
Those who can see the myth, those who see through (the) flesh
Those whose histories were bounded by fortune
Wealth made of tales of the unknown

These are my fellows, my comrades of wildness
From a ville called faldum
Where when never matters at all

Like the sun that rises at the east side of my thoughts
Phrases that no matter if, ain`t care without or within
Words that at last had meaning
Which could report that flame within

These are my fellows, my comrades of wildness
From a ville called faldum
Where when never matters at all