| The moon is low on the southland
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| The frogs are asleep on the lake
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| Did you know that tears run in rivulets
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| And hearts can repeatedly break?
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| And this may well be the last time
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| If my spirits don’t pick up and fly
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| For though it’s sad
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| It may well be true
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| That our time is passing us by
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| Occasionally you have called for me
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| I’ve always tried to be there
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| But it seemed whenever my train pulled in
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| You never did really care
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| And the only thing I could decipher
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| From the corner of your roving eye
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| Was that you and I
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| Were the first ones to know
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| That our time was passing us by
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| Well, it was fun for the first few years
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| Playing Legend In Our Time
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| And there were those who discussed the fact
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| That we drifted apart in our prime
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| And we haven’t got too much in common
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| Except that we’re so much alike
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| And I hate it for though
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| You’re a big part of me
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| But our time is passing us by
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| So I can sit here in my silver chair
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| You can stay there on your gold
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| You can say you’ve got commitments
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| And I can say I’m growing old
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| And I can get up and make comments
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| On the color of the evening sky
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| But our ships have come home
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| And the night’s rolling in
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| And our time is passing us by
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| But cast us adrift
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| And cross a few stars
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| And I’m good for one more try |