When

When I`m sixty-eight, and I`m travelling by the mountains When in a place between the middle of our own way When you can hear a wine flute from beyond What can you see within a flight? Where my home is done there`ll be fields of willow and chaff Those who can see the myth, those who see through (the) flesh Those whose histories were bounded by fortune Wealth made of tales of the unknown These are my fellows, my comrades of wildness From a ville called faldum Where when never matters at all Like the sun that rises at the east side of my thoughts Phrases that no matter if, ain`t care without or within Words that at last had meaning Which could report that flame within These are my fellows, my comrades of wildness From a ville called faldum Where when never matters at all