| Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
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| You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way
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| Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
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| Waiting for someone or something to show you the way
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| Tired of lying in the sunshine
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| Staying home to watch the rain
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| And you are young and life is long
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| And there is time to kill today
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| And then one day you find
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| Ten years have got behind you
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| No one told you when to run
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| You missed the starting gun
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| And you run, and you run to catch up with the sun, but it’s sinking
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| Racing around to come up behind you again
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| The sun is the same in a relative way, but you’re older
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| Shorter of breath and one day closer to death
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| Every year is getting shorter
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| Never seem to find the time
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| Plans that either come to naught
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| Or half a page of scribbled lines
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| Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
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| The time is gone
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| The song is over
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| Thought I’d something more to say
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| Home, home again
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| I like to be here when I can
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| When I come home cold and tired
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| It’s good to warm my bones beside the fire
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| Far away across the field
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| The tolling of the iron bell
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| Calls the faithful to their knees
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| To hear the softly spoken magic spells |