Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Medley: Seasons, artist - Magna Carta. Album song Seasons + Songs From Wasties Orchard, in the genre Поп
Date of issue: 31.12.1998
Record label: Mercury
Song language: English
Medley: Seasons |
This is the turning of the year |
The final scene before the curtain falls |
The squirrel, warm within his bed |
of leaves cannot hear the wind |
that blows around the chimney pots |
For like the pilgrim of the year gone by |
Once he was a young man |
who laughed in the spring |
And lay beneath an upturned sky |
on long hot summer days |
But with autumn he grows mellow |
He looks over his shoulder |
Down the long year path of no return |
Already he is but a memory |
Fading like a shadow on the wall |
But time with restless footsteps |
hurries by and now beside the road |
There stands the pilgrim |
of the year to be |
Falling leaves turn to gold |
Silver flowers on my window |
Spirit of the fading year |
He knows not where |
He cannot say, oh no |
Naked trees in the sky |
Stars are shining clear and cold |
The minstrel of the ages |
sings of oh so long ago |
An age old tune without a name |
No one knows |
In the white falling snow |
The pilgrim travels on |
His face towards the sun |
Beyond the open road he travels on |
Past the lamp shining windows |
And faces by the fire |
Before the midnight hour |
For Christmas time |
has come around again |
Go to sleep, little child |
You shouldn’t be awake |
Go to sleep little child |
Time to let the night go by |
Waiting for the sound of a magic sleigh |
The chimneys not too tall they say |
Or the roof too high for a reindeer to fly |
No not too high for a reindeer to fly |
The clock strikes twelve |
on a street below |
They hurry to a church to pray |
«Forgive our sins and negligence |
Accept our humble penitence |
It’s been a year ago today |
Since we were here» |
Choir gently sings an anthem |
Not too loud or out of key |
Congregation turn eye corners |
When the plate goes round to see |
Who gives the most on Christmas day |
The most on Christmas day |
Twilight days are slipping far away |
Just sand into an hour glass |
For winter time is slowly passed |
And cannot last forever |
North wind turn your back |
upon the doors that you have blown |
West wind melt the organ pipes of ice |
That glitter on the eaves |
of the houses in the town |
And the sun wakes up the flowers |
That slumber through the winter |
And warms the sleepy faces |
Waiting for the spring |
The skies of steel |
and fields white with frost |
are memories of yesterday |
And while scarecrow children |
search the hedgerows and splash |
through muddy pools for secrets |
The spirit of the spring |
with the sunbeams on her hair |
shakes the sleeping earth |
And with the pilgrim by her side |
She murmurs in the trees |
And in the ears of all who listen |
«Now time to wake for winter has gone» |
With flowers in her hair |
She smiles again and like a child |
cares nothing for tomorrow |
She spreads her wings |
Catch her if you see her |
in your mind’s eye |
For she smiles in a Mona Lisa way |
Sun is rising |
from a cloud above your head |
When you instead are sleeping |
All is knowing, all is growing |
And no one knows |
which way their mind is blowing |
And now she finds |
her work is almost done |
And like a child |
cares nothing for tomorrow |
And like a child |
cares nothing for tomorrow |
And like a child thinks only for today |
The pilgrim wanders with the spirit |
of the spring, enchanted |
As if tomorrow will never come |
But time is running out |
And as she bids him farewell |
Only the echo of her voice remains |
For now she flies |
On the bare back of the south wind |
Across the naked mountains |
Above the winding rivers |
Breathing gently on the meadows |
Scattering her flowers |
into the grass and the hedgerows |
Fading through the back door |
Long summer day |
Golden fingers pointing at my doorway |
Meadow sleeping |
Watching for the sky to turn you on |
The air filled with heytime |
Blowing past a flower-print lady |
On a seat in the park |
Wears a paper on her head |
She never read at all |
She’s just keeping her mind in the dark |
Keeping her mind in the dark |
You know she’s cool |
She’s just like an ice-cream man |
And don’t you see what I mean |
She’s doing the best that she can |
Doing the best that she can |
Hey Mr. Sunshine |
Like a Harlequin you’re dancing |
on my picture book today |
Ooh It’s a good time |
And I’m floating far away |
Chew on a candy-floss |
in the pouring rain |
Kids are crying again |
Kids are crying again |
Holiday time |
Down on a beach with the crowd |
Trying to look for the sun |
Taking whatever you can |
And your deckchair is an island |
In a kaleidoscope world |
Jamming cars, crowded bars |
Standing trains or smell the drains |
The quiver in the heat of the city street |
God, I must get away |
Hey Mr. Sunshine |
And I’m floating far away |
Down the wide open road |
The pilgrim travels on |
His face towards the sun |
Beyond the open road he travels on |
And the waves steal the footprints |
Of the summer from the sand |
Beneath the silver moon |
The North wind blows |
the fading leaves again |
Around and around |
All has nearly turned full circle |
The warm lazy days of sunshine |
And brown rivers |
winding through the meadows |
are a tale of yesterday |
The pilgrim sighs |
And draws his mantle close |
about him in the smoky evening |
He watches the leaves wither and fall |
Frost has rimmed the pools with ice |
And hung diamonds |
in the spider’s web |
For this is the turning of the year |
The final scene before the curtain falls |
And now beside the road there stands |
the pilgrim of the year to be |
Falling leaves turn to gold |
Silver flowers on my window |
Spirit of the fading year |
He knows not where |
He cannot say |