A perfect Indian is henRemembering him life is sweetnLike a weeping willownHis face on my pillownComes to me still in my dreamsnnAnd there I saw a young babynA beautiful daughter was shenHer face from a paintingnRed cheeks and teeth achingnHer eyes like a wild Irish seannOn a table in her yellow dressnfor a photograph feigned happinessnwhy in my life is that the only timenthat any of you will smile at mennI'm sailing on this terrible oceannI've come for myself to retrievenTo long have I been nfeeling like Lyr's childrennAnd there's only one way to be freennHe's shy and he speaks quietly nHe's gentle and he seems to menLike the Elf-ArrownHis face worn and harrowednIs he a daydreamer like mennI'm sailing on this terrible oceannI've come for myself to retrievenTo long have I been nfeeling like Lyr's childrennAnd there's only one way to be free