Time

Every year is getting shorter 
Never seem to find the time.
Plans that either come to naught 
Or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desparation is the English way
The time has gone, the song is over,
Thought I'd something more to say.

Home, home again
I like to be here when I can
When I come home cold and tired
It's good to warm my bones beside the fire
Far away, across the field
The tolling of the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
To hear the softly spoken magic spells

Pink Floyd

For

Take a Word

Hugs,

 Karla