What Do You Want From Me
I'm not one of those, who can easily hide
I don't have much money, but boy if I did
I'd buy a big house where we both could live.
If I was a sculptor, but then again no,
Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show
I know it's not much, but it's the best I can do
My gift is my song and this one's for you.
And you can tell everybody, this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it's done,
I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind
That I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in
Last Good Day Of The Year
don't tell me
that you get sick of living
when the summer's so forgiving although we have stolen
all of the things that we thought we had owned then
have disappeared
all these things in flavour
won't do you no favours
when the summer's light is fragrant with scents of returning
you relent, you resent, now you're burning
for nothing to change....
there's something there...
(amongst the fallen fruit and flowers)
won't rest
(only minutes, only hours)
unless
(now the morning breaks in showers)
I guess
we'll remember this all of our lives
on the Last Good Day of The Year
all the leaves are turning
Autumn's fingers burnished
furnished here in hope and in faith in the meantime
kinda working my way through a dream
I was having alone
there's something there...
(amongst the fallen fruit and flowers)
won't rest
(only minutes, only hours)
unless
(now the morning breaks in showers)
I'm left
with the North Wind breathing down my neck...
on The Last Good Day of The Year.....
(don't know where I end and where you begin...)