I might go to Spain
Sleep out with the dogs
Find some empty castle
Put my jacket on a cross
The mice are in the fields
And the ghosts are in the towers
Little wind I’m with you in the roadside flowers

I might go to town
And drink myself away
Find some singing bird
And try to step inside her cage
I might go to waste
And I might be a coward
Little wind I’m with you in the roadside flowers

I wish that I had stayed
In that river house with you
Pulled away the weeds
And let the wild roses bloom
But all the hanging plums
Someday will go sour
Little wind I’m with you in the roadside flowers

Don’t you want to fly with the highland birds
Don’t you want to dance in the Catalan dirt
Maybe it’s my fault
Or maybe it’s my power
Little wind I’m with you in the roadside flowers