(E. John/B. Taupin) When the shrill winds are screaming And the evening is still Lady samantha glides over the hill In a long satin dress that she wears every day Her home is the hillside, her bed is the grave Lady samantha glides like a tiger Over the hills with no one beside her No one comes near They all live in fear But lady samantha, she sheds only tears The tales that I told round the fire every night Are out of proportion and none of them right She is harmless and empty of anything bad For she once had something that most of you have
