He's waiting for the midday wind   And waves spread out so dull and slack   And with a hand fan every day   The old man smooths the water back   I cast a stone in just for fun   The water rings moved on the plane   So sadly stood the old man by   And swept the water flat again   In white sand the old man sat   Trembling as he smoked his pipe   Just the water and I know that   The fan is of a special type   Awareness sleeps volcano dreams   Reluctant I asked him why   His head hung low as if he slept   And then he said before he died   The water will be your only mirror   First when it's like glass can you see   How many fairytales you have left   For your deliverance you will plead   The fan was pressed to his breast   Just as death's grip seized up his hand   His fingers must have been so tight   The fan remained back in the sand   I call the old man every day   Should he come and deliver me   I stay here with the midday wind   And in the fan it is plain to read   The water will be your only mirror   First when it's like glass can you see   How many fairytales you'll have left   For your deliverance you will plead