| Oh, the day that they found him swinging
|
| A day they’ll not soon forget
|
| Four long years ago
|
| It can’t be over yet
|
| His tongue was tasting the morning
|
| His feet were ringing a bell
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| Five times on the road
|
| And six times that he fell
|
| When the young people dance
|
| They do not dance forever
|
| It is written in sand
|
| With the softest of feathers
|
| It is not writ in stone
|
| Like the walls of the chapel
|
| And soon it is gone
|
| Like the soft winters apple
|
| Fly on your wings like an eagle
|
| Fly like the heroes of old
|
| Half your life ago
|
| Your hands are turning cold
|
| When the young people dance
|
| They do not dance forever
|
| It is written in sand
|
| With the softest of feathers
|
| It is not writ in stone
|
| Like the walls of the chapel
|
| And soon it is gone
|
| Like the soft winters apple
|
| When the young people dance
|
| They do not dance forever
|
| It is written in sand
|
| With the softest of feathers
|
| It is not writ in stone
|
| Like the walls of the chapel
|
| And soon it is gone
|
| Like the soft winter’s apple
|
| When the young people dance
|
| They do not dance forever
|
| It is written in sand
|
| With the softest of feathers
|
| It is not writ in stone
|
| Like the walls of the chapel
|
| And soon it is gone
|
| Like the soft winters apple
|
| When the young people dance
|
| They do not dance forever
|
| It is written in sand
|
| With the softest of feathers
|
| It is not writ in stone
|
| Like the walls of the chapel
|
| And soon it is gone
|
| Like the soft winters apple |