Jul
29
Late to the party again, this time by nearly forty years…but, still, I freaking love this song.
And you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it’s sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again.
The sun is the same in a relative way but you’re older.
Shorter of breath, 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.
