Sitting in a jet plane, seven miles above the ground
Looking out the window at the planet spinning round
Trying to recall again the strange words that I’d read
I close my eyes and then I find these words are in my head

Some are born shepherds, others are born sheep
Some are like the lonely wolf, trying to find something to eat
But there are nights when the moon is full and the wolf is on the prowl
If you listen very closely, it’s the moon that you’ll hear howl
It’s the moon that you’ll hear howl

In a Mayan village as the night comes drifting down
Children on their porches and dogs wandering all around
The sweet scent of wild flowers clinging softly to the breeze
Someone left a yellow moon there hanging in the trees

Walking on a fishing pier in a drowsy Irish town
Seagulls flying overhead as I watch the sun go down
An old man like a statue sits staring out to sea
Skimming through the years again in his private time machine

Never Learned to Dance – Green Linnet, GLCD 1124
Words and Music, Robbie O’Connell © 1990
Slievenamon Music (BMI)