Fotheringay

How often she has gazed

From castle windows all

And watched the daylight passing

Within her captive wall

With no one

To heed her call

The evening hour is fading

Within the dwindling sun

And in a lonely moment,

Those embers will be gone

And the last

Of all the young birds flown

Her days of precious freedom,

Forfeited long before

To live such fruitless years

Behind a guarded door

But those days

Will last no more

Tomorrow, at this hour,

She will be far away

Much farther than these islands,

Or the lonely Fotheringay