Well I heard the curlew was a bad omen

And I've rarely heard a stranger thing

For there’s a path that opens through conscience

When they’re calling out, caught in the simmerdim

And this time of year, I miss the feeling

The nights were once sure to bring

When I'd lie awake with the windows open

With an urge to set out and take their voices in

And sure, there's a part that's haunting

How the past finds ways back in

But it's just how life recycles

From the marshes they rise again

And their songs swim towards the surface

And bubble up over the brim

But sounds live on after sounding

And ideas aren't bound by the skin

And soon the fields again fall silent

And the Devil's Bit starts setting in

Before the dark unrolls

I start to long for the simmerdim

And high above the runway

You'll hear the seven whistlers welcoming

Oh, return to cycles of simmerdim

Oh, return to cycles of simmerdim

Oh, return to cycles of simmerdim

Oh, ooh, return to cycles of simmerdim

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Return to cycles of simmerdim

Oh, return to cycles of simmerdim (Return to)

Oh, return to cycles of simmerdim