Tekster: Midlake. Fortune.

Down to the valley where the fortunes grow
Down to the free
That gathered holy 'round the fire that grows so well

On with the laughter when the work is done
It is what it is
A passing work of human hands where faults abound

While the rains would come
While the end was unknown
Nothing had proved too much
No path was solely my own


Most of the daylight nothing filled my mind
Quiet was I
And I was held away from evil that spoke my name

All he was wanting was a bumbling man
I wouldn't go
Wanting only to feel the time around me stay