| Don’t tell me That you get sick of living
|
| When the summer’s so forgiving
|
| Although we have stolen
|
| All of the things that we though
|
| We had owned then
|
| Have disappeared
|
| All these things in flavour
|
| Won’t do you no favours
|
| When the summer’s light is fragrant
|
| With scents of returning
|
| You relent, you resent, now you’re burning
|
| For nothing to change…
|
| There’s something there…
|
| (amongst the fallen fruit and flowers)
|
| Won’t rest
|
| (only minutes, only hours)
|
| Unless
|
| (now the morning breaks in showers)
|
| I guess
|
| We’ll remember this all of our lives
|
| On the Last Good Day of The Year
|
| All the leaves are turning
|
| Autumn’s fingers burnished
|
| Furnished here in hope and in faith in the meantime
|
| Kinda working my way through a dream I Was having alone
|
| There’s something there…
|
| (amongst the fallen fruit and flowers)
|
| Won’t rest
|
| (only minutes, only hours)
|
| Unless
|
| (now the morning breaks in showers)
|
| I’m left
|
| With the North Wind breathing down my neck…
|
| On The Last Good Day of The Year…
|
| (don't know where I end and where you begin…) |