The setting sun is softening the edges
And, suddenly, we don\'t have time anymore
So many years spent looking forward
Now just looking back at closed doors;
The days when we sprung like the lark
With gloom thrown in the bin
Now just collecting dusty books to put on a shelf
Old photographs in a toffee tin;
Morning freshness passes me by
The race to the night is where I go
Legs that ran a million miles
The sun rises but I stay low;
Where do we go from here
Is every breath the last
Those old photographs don\'t lie
Everything is in the past.