I've stopped believing in heaven, and I'm not afraid of hell,
and I'm crawling into old age as you can probably tell.
And musing of my youth spent in Manor Park, lying among
long grass and listening for the lark.
The cry of birds spiralling hight into the sky as years and
memories like clouds go flying by, and the light from long ago
was soft and filtered gold, now it seems a different light it's
stark bright and cold. It shows the faults with hard contrast
there for all to see, and what was soft and filtered gold I no longer see.
Desire was the one thing that fuelled the way I lived, but now
it seems companionship is all I have to give.
Time is not a member of this club that I'm in now, in my heart
I'm still young but with frost upon my brow.
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