Well I heard the curlew was a bad omen
And I've rarely heard a stranger thing
For there's a path that opens through conscience
When they're calling out, caught in the simmerdim
And this time of year I miss the feeling
The nights were once sure to bring
When I'd lie awake with the windows open
With an urge to set out and take their voices in
And sure, there's a part that's haunting
How the past finds ways back in
But it's just how life recycles
From the marshes they rise again
And their songs swim towards the surface
And bubble up over the brim
But sounds live on after sounding
And ideas aren't bound by the skin
And soon the fields again fall silent
And the devil's-bit starts setting in
Before the dark unrolls
I start to long for the simmerdim
And high above the runway
You'll hear the seven whistlers welcoming
Oh, ooh, return to cycles of simmerdim
Oh, ooh, return to cycles of simmerdim
Uh, oh, ooh, return to cycles of simmerdim
Oh, ooh, return to cycles of simmerdim
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, mmm, ooh
Mmm...
Return to cycles of simmerdim, oh
(Return to)
Return to cycles of simmerdim, oh
(Return to)
Return to cycles of simmerdim