He was stranded in some tiny town on fair Prince Edward Isle,
awaiting for a ship to come and find him
A one-horse place, a friendly face, some coffee and a tiny trace
of fiddling in the distance far behind him.
A dime across the counter, then, a shy hello, a brand new friend.
A walk along the street in the wintry weather.
A yellow light, an open door, a welcome friend, there's room for more,
And then they're standing there inside together.
He said I've heard that tune before somewhere, but I can't remember when.
Was it on some other friendly shore or did I hear it on the wind?
Was it written on the sky above? I think I heard it from someone I love,
but I never heard it sound so sweet since then
Now his feet begin to tap, a little boy says I'll take your hat.
He's caught up in the magic of her smile.
And leap, the heart inside him went, and off across the floor he sent
his clumsy body graceful as a child.
He said there's magic in the fiddler's arm, there's magic in this town.
There's magic in the dancers' feet and the way they put them down.
People smiling everywhere, boots and ribbons, locks of hair,
and laughter and old blue suits and Easter gowns.
Now the sailor's gone, the room is bare, the old piano's sitting there,
someone's hat's left hanging on the rack.
And empty chairs, the wooden floor that feels the touch of shoes no more,
awaiting for the dancers to come back.
And the fiddle's in the closet of some daughter of the town.
The strings are broke and the bow is gone and the cover's buttoned down.
But sometimes on December nights, when the air is cold and the wind is right,
There's a melody that passes through this town.