All in the Golden Afternoon (Alphaville)

All in the golden afternoon full leisurely we glide for both our oars, with little skill, by little arms are plied while little hands make vain pretence our wanderings to guide ah, cruel three! in such an hour beneath such dreamy wheather to beg a tale of breath too weak to stir the tiniest feather and what can one poor voice avail against three tongues together anon, to sudden silence won, in fancy they persue the dream child moving through a land of wonders wild and new in friendly chat with bird or beast- and half believe it true and ever as the story drained the wells of fancy dry and faintly strove that weary one to put the subject by the next time. it is next time the happy voices cry thus grew the tale of wonderland, thus slowly, one by one it's quaint events were hammered out and now the tale is done and home we steer a merry crew beneath the setting sun