With kings and fools,
and knaves in tow,
the leaving song
has far to go.
They shake your head,
and rattle your bones,
with shallow truths
and hollow hopes.
The leaving song,
the leaving song,
the leaving song.
If this winter is hard
where will you go,
the snow may fall
and the wind may blow.
On a pair of good boots,
and a brand new coat,
the eyes may feast
but the purse can't own.
The leaving song,
the leaving song,
the leaving song.
You could sail to France
on a leaky boat,
go down to Spain
and warm your toes.
Take a long time
if you go by road,
but time is tall
when you're on your own.
The leaving song,
the leaving song,
the leaving song.
So wipe your tears
and blow your nose,
curse this life
you never chose.
Curse this rain,
curse this friend and foe,
come on boots
steady we go.
The leaving song,
the leaving song,
the leaving song.