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The times we had, oh, when the wind would blow |
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With rain and snow were not all bad |
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We put our feet just where they had, had to go |
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Never to go |
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The shattered soul following close but nearly twice as slow |
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In my good times there were always golden rocks to throw |
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At those who admit defeat too late |
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Those were our times, those were our times |
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And I will love to see that day, that day is mine |
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When she will marry me outside with the willow trees |
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And play the songs we made, they made me so |
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And I would love to see that day, her day was mine |
