The Whistler

I'll buy you six bay mares, to put in you stable;
Six golden apples brought with my pay.
I am the first piper who calls the sweet tune
But I must be gone by the seventh day.

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So come on - I'm the Whistler
I have a fife, and a drum to play.
Get ready - I'm the Whistler.
I whistle along on the seventh day.

All kinds of sadness I've left behind me.
Many's the day when I have done wrong.
But I'll be your for ever and ever.
Climb in the saddle and whistle along.

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Deep red are the sunsets in mystical places.
Black are the nights on summer-day sands.
We'll find the speck of truth in each riddle:
Hold the first grain of love in our hands.

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