I could feel the winter creeping in through the windows
A white hue hung in the air
Fingers of ice ready to embroil me in it's pleasure
Yet I was warm and made of toasty
Yes
These are the good days

My roof was sound as the wind announced its arrival
I smiled a whistle
Singing the only creak to be heard as I opened a full cupboard
I was ready to devour
Yes  
These are the good days

Time does now tick as my age turns to grey
A smile of great memories
Crying sadness of old loss
My role to remember
A job to create such
I look down through the blur
These old hands all now wrinkled
The good days all gone