"Dont tell me
That you get sick of living
When the summers so forgiving although we have stolen
All of the things that we though we had owned then
Have disappeared
All these things in flavour
Wont do you no favours
When the summers light is fragrant with scents of returning
You relent, you resent, now youre burning
For nothing to change....
Theres something there...
(amongst the fallen fruit and flowers)
Wont rest
(only minutes, only hours)
Unless
(now the morning breaks in showers)
I guess
Well remember this all of our lives
On the last good day of the year
All the leaves are turning
Autumns fingers burnished
Furnished here in hope and in faith in the meantime
Kinda working my way through a dream
I was having alone
Theres something there...
(amongst the fallen fruit and flowers)
Wont rest
(only minutes, only hours)
Unless
(now the morning breaks in showers)
Im left
With the north wind breathing down my neck...
On the last good day of the year.....
(dont know where I end and where you begin...)"
Cousteau
