The sands of time are turning into snow
The flocks are headed south
And down there down south
The drinks are on the house
You're dancing all night long… and don't belong
It's always autumn, even May
The dogs are barking in the rain
I'm just a stranger lurking on my own
The bed is smirking, ceiling low
The temperate is way below
Your vacant eyes have lost their glow
I write you letters while asleep
The train of thought is hard to keep
The fare you bargained turned out counterfeit
And down there down south
Where all this nonsense doesn't count
It keeps shifting with the flow
It's time to go

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