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