Leaves that are green…

… turn to brown.

I was twenty-one years when I wrote this song.
Im twenty-two now but I wont be for long
Time hurries on.
And the leaves that are green turn to brown,
And they wither with the wind,
And they crumble in your hand.

Once my heart was filled with the love of a girl.
I held her close, but she faded in the night
Like a poem I meant to write.
And the leaves that are green turn to brown,
And they wither with the wind,
And they crumble in your hand.

I threw a pebble in a brook
And watched the ripples run away
And they never made a sound.
And the leaves that are green turned to brown,
And they wither with the wind,
And they crumble in your hand.

Hello, hello, hello, good-bye,
Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye,
Thats all there is.
And the leaves that are green turned to brown,
And they wither with the wind,
And they crumble in your hand.

Eu não escrevi música alguma, só copiei e colei. Além do mais, estou completando duas décadas. Mas compondo ou não compondo, o tempo não pára. E eis que os teen years ficaram para trás. Talvez eu venha a sentir falta deles. Ao menos os 20 entram com direito a barbeador elétrico. Há avanços…

Adicionado posteriormente: E torta! Pois há avanços, mas o que já se tinha de bom deve ser preservado. E não há nada melhor que torta.