|
Do the years add up |
|
To the suck and the blow |
|
Of a breath and a beating heart |
|
There must be more |
|
You can wash your face |
|
With a sunset song |
|
The lines will still remain |
|
They'll never be gone |
|
Will you bully [?] your land |
|
With a furrowed brow |
|
But King Harvest leaves |
|
With a thinning crown |
|
You may bow your head |
|
As the hair recedes |
|
But it's filled with years |
|
That no one can steal |
|
When the work stops working |
|
What was light becomes a weight |
|
When the work stops working |
|
Shall we pack it all in |
|
When the work stops working |
|
And the weight becomes an ache |
|
When the work stops working |
|
Shall we pack it all in |
|
Or start again |
|
Ah, the search for answers |
|
Is an idiot's task |
|
I'm not halfway there |
|
But don't want to ask |
|
The search gives a glint |
|
To the older eye |
|
And I'll keep on looking |
|
Till the day |
|
I die Is the work half-worth |
|
When your hands grow raw |
|
When your knees keep creaking |
|
Like an old barn door |
|
The gloves of love |
|
Become an old man's friend |
|
And you'll learn to make a stand |
|
Not to stoop and bend |
|
When the work stops working |
|
What was light becomes a weight |
|
When the work stops working |
|
Shall we pack it all in |
|
When the work stops working |
|
And the weight becomes an ache |
|
When the work stops working |
|
Shall we pack it all in |
|
Or start again |
|
The lines remain |
|
And they will never be gone |
|
All life is filled with years |
|
No one can steal |
|
I'll keep on looking |
|
Till the day |
|
I die I'll learn to make a stand |
|
Not stoop and bend |
|
When the work stops working |
|
What was light becomes a weight |
|
When the work stops working |
|
Shall we pack it all in |
|
When the work stops working |
|
And the weight becomes an ache |
|
When the work stops working |
|
Shall we pack it all in |
|
Or start again |
