| The voice had been there all along |
| Hidden in the stones in the rivers |
| Hidden in all the books |
| Hidden in plain sight |
| It was the voice of reason |
| Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day |
| You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way |
| Kicking around on a piece of ground in your hometown |
| Waiting for someone or something to show you the way |
| Tired of lying in the sunshine, staying home to watch the rain |
| And you are young and life is long, and there is time to kill today |
| And then one day you find ten years have got behind you |
| No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun |
| You run, and you run to catch up with the sun, but it’s sinking |
| And racing around to come up behind you again |
| The sun is the same in a relative way, but you’re older |
| Shorter of breath, and one day closer to death |
| 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 desperation is the English way |
| The time is gone, the song is over, thought I’d something more to say |
| Home, home again |
| I like to be here when I can |
| And when I come home cold and tired |
| It’s good to warm my bones beside the fire |
| And far away, across the fields |
| The tolling of the iron bell |
| Calls the faithful to their knees |
| To hear the softly spoken magic spells |