A song was woven while the summer lasted,
A song of silvery waves and golden beams.
It carried us away on clouds and rainbows
And left us stranded in a land of dreams.
There's a song in the wind and in the weather,
There's a song in the mountains and the sea,
There's a path through the moorland and the heather
And we're home - wherever we may be.
And day turns into night that turns to day
Like the tides that wash our tracks away.
Now and again the sun is changed to moon
That lights our way ...
Sing ye, bard, the song again of the island of September
Where sun meets rain, and kings and saints await on every hill.
Awake our dreams, for we are just beginning to remember
That long forgotten tales inside our hearts
Are living still.
They're living when we look at ancient graveyards,
They're living in the eyes of cows and sheep.
They're living in the whispering of the waters
Of silent lakes, so infinitely deep.
Now we see the leaves turning gold
And we feel the winds growing cold.
Oh ye mists that are rising in the valley,
Take us with ye to the mystic days of old.
But day turns into night that turns today
Like the tides that wash our tracks away.
Now and again the sun is changed to moon -
We're leaving soon ...
From afar we hear the song again of the island of September,
Of endless roads in many shades of green.
All that lasts are the things that we remember,
That make us to the ones we always should have been.
Crystal, September 1997, Ireland
For Mathilde, Roswitha and Edeltraut