There are wolves in the wind and the trees bow low
The tail lights of the car set the forest aglow
With your suitcase in the boot and blood on the wheel
In the glovebox there's a tape of you singing to me

There are tracks in the air that I followed all the way
From the motel where it happened to the tip of your beret
There is gossip in the Shire and it's poisoning the streams
Don't listen to what thеy're saying 'bout me

Therе's value to the pound, there's a value to the ground
There's imperial measures to make you understand
There are stories in your skin and there's soil in your hair
They'll be buried with the traces of this terrible affair