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Whenever I get to feel this way, |
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try to find new words to say, |
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I think about the bad old days |
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we used to know. |
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Nights of winter turn me cold -- |
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fears of dying, getting old. |
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We ran the race and the race was won |
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by running slowly. |
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Could be soon we'll cease to sound, |
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slowly upstairs, faster down. |
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Then to revisit stony grounds, |
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we used to know. |
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Remembering mornings, shillings spent, |
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made no sense to leave the bed. |
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The bad old days they came and went |
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giving way to fruitful years. |
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Saving up the birds in hand |
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while in the bush the others land. |
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Take what we can before the man |
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says it's time to go. |
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Each to his own way I'll go mine. |
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Best of luck in what you find. |
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But for your own sake remember times |
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we used to know. |
