My life has been a tapestry of rich and royal hue, An everlasting vision of the ever-changing view. A wondrous woven magic in bits of blue and gold A tapestry to feel and see, impossible to hold.
Once, amid the soft, silver sadness in the sky, There came a man of fortune, a drifter passing by. He wore a torn and tattered cloth around his leathered hide, And a coat of many colors, yellow, green on either side.
He moved with some uncertainty, as if he didn't know Just what he was there for, or where he ought to go. Once he reached for something golden, hanging from a tree, And his hand came down empty.
Soon within my tapestry, along the rutted road, He sat down on a river rock and turned into a toad. It seemed that he had fallen into someone's wicked spell, And I wept to see him suffer, though I didn't know him well.
As I watched in sorrow, there suddenly appeared A figure, gray and ghostly, beneath a flowing beard. In times of deepest darkness, I've seen him dressed in black. Now my tapestry's unraveling; he's come to take me back. He's come to take me back.