My life has been a tapestry of rich and royal hue,
an everlasting vision of the everchanging view,
a wondrous woven magic in bits of blue and gold,
a tapestry to feel and see, impossible to hold.
Once amid the soft silver sadness in the sky
there came a man of fortune, a drifter passing by
he wore a torn and tattered cloth around his leathered hide
and a coat of many colors, yellow-green on either side.
He moved with some uncertainty, as if he didn't know
just what he was there for, or where he ought to go
once he reached for something golden hanging from a tree
and his hand came down - empty.
Soon within my tapestry along the rutted road
he sat down on a river rock and turned into a toad,
it seemed that he had fallen into someone's wicked spell,
and I wept to see him suffer, though I didn't know him well.
As I watched in sorrow, there suddenly appeared
a figure gray and ghostly beneath a flowing beard
in times of deepest darkness, I've seen him dressed in black
now my tapestry's unravelling; he's come to take me back,
he's come to take me back.