I would often go there
To the tiny church there
The smallest church in Saint-Saëns
Though it once was larger

How the rill may rest there
Down through the mist there
Toward the Seven Sisters
Toward those pale cliffs there

I would often stay there
In there tiny yard there
I have been so glad here
Looking forward to the past here

But now you are all alone
None of this matters
No, none of this matters
At all