8: Harvest

Quiet is the morning
The dawn has yet to come
I woke up far too early
Feeling a little glum

As the leaves are falling
From my family tree
I try to comprehend
What they meant to me

Forgive me for saying
All things must come to an end
Things wil ripe and decay
And then they'll melt away

And Every time I see you
You look like someone else
And though I recognize your face
I cant make you leave the place

Despite the things I do
And despite the things I say
And though I try to fight you off
you'll claim your harvest anyway

Ashes to ash and soil to soil
We all have to shuffle off this coil
And when at last the day arrives
You gotta spread your wings
You gotta spread your wings

And fly from this world
Never to return
Fly from this world
You gotta
Fly from this world

Think about it
Because we have to come to terms