every fool that falls
falls slightly faster
than the apple on the master
quietly napping by a tree
end everytime he falls
he finds some reason,
some disgraceful mechanism,
to get up and fall again,
then he will say
i'm not going home,
today might be day
i'm coming to the end of something
yet it's early to let go
now the beggar and the lover
are smiling to one another
like they never did before
with every winter gone i write a letter
and if i was to live forever
i would do it all the same
it is addressed to some fool in the future
one that's older and much looser
just in case he will forget
he used to say:
i'm not going home,
today might be day
i'm coming to the end of something
yet it's early to let go
now the beggar and the lover
are smiling to one another
like they never did before