| Deep green hills, whose shoulders fade into thick grey |
| Tall wet grass, whose flesh makes fools of grazing sheep |
| Whose fleecing makes a fool of me |
| Who shall I blame for this sweet and heavy trouble? |
| For every stupid struggle, I don’t know |
| I could buy you a drink |
| I could tell you all about it |
| I could tell you why I doubt it, and what I do believe |
| But I can’t say it like I sing it |
| And I can’t sing it like I think it |
| And I can’t think it like I feel it |
| And I don’t feel a thing |
| I don’t feel it |
| Who shall I blame for this sweet and heavy trouble? |
| For every stupid struggle, I don’t know |
| I could buy you a drink |
| I could tell you all about it |
| I could tell you why I doubt it, and what I do believe |
| And why I need it |
| And I was blind but now I see |
| And you have more drinks |
| And we speak of so many things |
| But I don’t know you, and you don’t know me |