In the bone-creak of the garden chair
In the stifling, blinding summer shade
We sense it, feel it’s always there
We just can’t hear the sound of age
In the stifling, blinding summer shade
We sense it, feel it’s always there
We just can’t hear the sound of age
Things don’t work quite like they should
I’m losing pages everywhere
What happened?
A little warning would be good
Forgetting ages, losing hair
What happened?
Hear the classics float over the privet
Close your eyes, forget the ache
Full of pins and plates and rivets
Close your eyes for goodness’ sake
It’s little things, just petty woes
So terrible, the things I’ve done
To go with every tiny flow
To speak to God then turn and run
I still know what love means
I just can’t remember how it works
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