In a quaint place
Far from home
There stays
Old man
Older than the town
He's a hermit
He's an apostate of a society
He doesn't follow
Following trends
Isn't his thang
Now there are people
Who suppose society is well knit
With the government keeping
them in sullied security
Saving a couple of dimes
for the summer
Hoping to enjoy winter
in the southern hemisphere
Candles dripping wax
I guess the fire's out
Holding belief
In his hands
It's the water
Or Wine in a glass
Of sunshine
Of God's son
You seen faces
and lives
But still believe life's
Is a stream falling
From a stormy mountain
That brings you
To the icy wind
That called strife
Hey! Ce'est la vie
That's life