Time is flying by and I have little heart to fly with it.
I try and find a path to travel, in a place I won’t get hit,
But enemies like gravel, get stuck in all our shoes
And I fight them every single day, like a drunk who pays his dues.
A feast is in the woods ahead, I see it in the corner of my eye
I hope I can prepare myself so northern nights won’t make me cry.
I will dance in sparkling firelight with the woman of my life
She pretends I’m in another place and perhaps she’s not my wife.
Can’t say that I can lay the blame, my warmth has dwindled down
To where my heat is something like a dark and dingy town
Full of ghosts and memories that haunt whatever moves
Like a bent and worn out needle trying to find the grooves.
Time is such a wicked thing, whether it comes or goes
It always finds the secret path that no one ever knows.