They'll play the fiddle when I die.
And sing of wilder mountain thyme.
They'll sing of strangers passing by
And landscapes altering through time.
They will be sad that I am gone
And they'll be happy that I was.
They'll sing and dance till break of dawn,
Defying all the Jewish laws.

They'll play the fiddle when I die.
I hope that by this song they'll go.
But it won't steer me if they'll cry.
As I will be no more, you know.