| A blue and windy day
|
| A month or so ago
|
| Was the last gasp of summertime this year
|
| And now the cold has come in
|
| It’s damp and gray again
|
| Rotting all the fruit left on the vine
|
| Our hands can never keep up
|
| We never tire of the changing of the seasons
|
| We never tire of the changing of the seasons
|
| We never tire of the changing of the seasons
|
| We never tire of the changing of the seasons
|
| Days grow short
|
| Fade away
|
| Sweet decay
|
| Of brown and gold
|
| Autumn rain
|
| She cascades
|
| The cloud’s in the sky above no more
|
| In the south, the northwest
|
| The birds have come and gone
|
| With patterns in time the years pass us by
|
| And now the cold has come in again
|
| And again and again
|
| Rotting all the fruit left on the vine
|
| Our hands can never keep up
|
| We never tire of the changing of the seasons
|
| We never tire of the changing of the seasons
|
| We never tire of the changing of the seasons
|
| We never tire of the changing of the seasons
|
| Days grow short
|
| Fade away
|
| Sweet decay
|
| Of brown and gold
|
| Autumn rain
|
| She cascades
|
| The cloud’s in the sky above no more
|
| Dark coming in
|
| Light fades to black
|
| Goin' where the wind goes
|
| Dark coming in
|
| Light fades to black
|
| Goin' where the wind goes
|
| Dark coming in
|
| Light fades to black
|
| Goin' where the wind goes
|
| The cloud’s in the sky above no more |