I'm the nightwatchman Seeking out words and melody In need of a bed In need of a bed I'm the nightwatchman Seeking out words and melody In need of a bed In need of some head Standing in the old clothes That my childhood wore When I was half as young as I am now The Machine police build monuments to slobbery But the Ewe tree laughs still into the wind Some say yes, and some say no 'Til the sky turns black and blue I'm the nightwatchman Seeking out words and melody In need of a bed In need of some head I am looking for the few Who are waiting in the weeds Grounded in the now Sharpening the immortal plough Standing in the old clothes By the scantily clad shore In wool, hand-stitched By an East wall mother No more sorrys now The sea is a healer I look back on it fondly As sunlight floods the chamber You then see what it was I saw And the sky is an emerald green The sky is an emerald green