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On a misty autumn morning
You can hear the wild birds call
giving chilly winter warning
that the Evening Star will fall.

I feel the wind that sings their crying
I wish the dying Sun goodbye
and I stand to see them flying
to a warm and welcome sky

And I stay to meet cold Winter;
to crunch the crackling ice and snow;
to walk along beneath bare branches,
and wonder why you had to go.

The empty rooms they echo laughter;
the broken door creaks one more song,
and in the silence that comes after
the dusty floors, they ask "How long?"

And I stay to meet... etc

Soon I'll find Winter clothes to hold me
and wrap myself against the cold
but frost and fire! they never told me
there is no peace in growing old

There is no peace in growing old....

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