| Where are all the joys of yesterday?
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| Where, now, is the happiness and laughter that we shared?
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| Gone, like our childhood dreams, aspirations and beliefs;
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| Time is a thief, and he ravages our gardens
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| Stripping saplings, felling trees
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| Trampling on our flowers, sucking sap and drying seeds
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| In the midnight candle-light of experience
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| All colour fades, green fingers grey
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| Time, alone, shall murder all the flowers
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| Still, there’s time to share our plots and all that we call 'ours'
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| How much worse, then, if we all deny each others' needs
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| And keep our gardens privately?
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| Its getting colder, wind and rain leave gashes;
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| Looking back, I only see the friends I’ve lost
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| Fires smoulder, raking through the ashes
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| My hands are dirty, my mind is numb
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| I count the cost of 'I':
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| «I need to get on, I’ve got to tend my garden;
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| Got to shut you out, no time to crave your pardon now»
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| Now I see the garden that I’ve grown is
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| Just the same as those outside;
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| The fences that, erected to protect, simply divide…
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| There’s ruination everywhere
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| The weather has played havoc with the grass…
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| Does anyone believe his garden’s really going to last?
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| In the time allotted us, can any man keep miserly his own?
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| Is there any pleasure in a solitary growth?
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| Come and see my garden if you will
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| I’d like someone to see it all before each root is killed
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| Surely now its time to open up each life to all
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| Tear down the walls, if it’s not too late!
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| There is so much sorrow in the world
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| There is so much emptiness and heartbreak and pain
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| Somewhere on the road we have all taken a wrong turn…
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| How can we build the right path again?
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| Through the grief, through the pain
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| Our flowers need each other’s rain… |