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. While far away accross the fields. The tolling of the iron bell, calls the faithful to their knees. To hear those softly spoken magic spells. Ticking away the moments that make up your dull day. Fritter and waste your hours in an off hand way. Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town. Waiting for someone or something to show you the way. The sun is the same in a relative way, but your older. Shorter of breath, and one day closer to death. Every year is getting shorter. I can never seem to find the time. Plans that either come to nothing, or half a page of scribbled lines. Hanging on in quiet desperation, as that's the English way. The time has gone, the song is over. Thought I'd something more to say? Time - Pink Floyd
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