(Mallett)
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.