(by Michael Peter Smith)

The Dutchman's not the kind of man
To keep his thumb jammed in the dam
    That holds his dreams in
But that's a secret only Margaret knows

When Amsterdam is golden in the 
morning, Margaret brings him breakfast
    She believes him
He thinks the tulips bloom beneath the snow

He's mad as he can be but Margaret only sees that sometimes
Sometimes she sees her unborn children in his eyes

	Let us go to the banks of the ocean
	Where the walls rise above the Zuider Zee
	Long ago I used to be a young man
	And dear Margaret remembers that for me

The Dutchman still wears wooden shoes
His cap and coat are patched with love
    That Margaret sewed in
Sometimes he thinks he's still in Rotterdam

He watches tugboats down canals
And calls out to them when he thinks he 
    knows the captain
'Til Margaret comes to take him home again

Through unforgiving streets that trip him though she holds his arm
Sometimes he thinks that he's alone and calls her name

	Let us go ...
The windmills whirl the winter in
She winds his muffler tighter
    They sit in the kitchen
Some tea with whiskey keeps away the dew

He sees her for a moment calls her name
She makes the bed up humming 
    some old love song
She learned it when the tune was very new

He hums a line or two, they hum together in the night
The Dutchman falls asleep and Margaret blows the candle out

	Let us go ...

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