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Song of the Songs

Song of the blue, I am wasting
Song of the bore, the cancer grows
Song of the withered tree, I've promised
Song of the dried well, nothing flows

Too late for songs of springtime, rip the buds and blow them all away
Too late for songs of morning, save them for another cloudless day

Song of the brook, they're fermented
Song of the attic, over-played
Song of the old trail, I have wandered
Song of the songs that I have made

Too late for songs of springtime, rip the buds and blow them all away
Too late for songs of morning, save them for another cloudless day

The green world
I think that I'll be
Coming back again

The green world
I think that I'll be
Coming back again

Too late for amplifiers, they rust away
Too late for empty tires, they've had their day
Too late, the sun is on his way
But it's not too late, it's not too late for me

Too late for songs of springtime, rip the buds and blow them all away
Too late for songs of morning, save them for another cloudless day

Too late for songs of springtime, rip the buds and blow them all away
Too late for songs of morning, save them for another cloudless day