so you run and you run to catch up to the sun but its sinking
and racing around to come up
behind you again
the sun is the same in a relative way but you're older
and shorter of breath, and one day closer to death
ev'ry 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 song is gone, the time is over,
I thought I'd so much 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 fields
the tolling of the iron bells
calls the faithful to their knees
to hear the softly spoken magic spells.

I'm not frightened of dying.
any time will do, I don't mind.
why should I be frightened of dying,
there's no reason for it, you've got to go sometime.