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Pink Floyd - Free Four Lyrics |
| Submitted by: AUTO-ADD |
| Current Rating: None | The memories of a man in his old age
Are the deeds of a man in his
prime.
You shuffle in gloom of the sickroom
And talk to yourself as you
die.
Life is a short, warm moment
And death is a long cold
rest.
You get your chance to try in the twinkling of an eye:
Eighty years,
with luck, or even less.
So all aboard for the American tour,
And
maybe you'll make it to the top.
And mind how you go, and I can tell you,
'cause I know
You may find it hard to get off.
You are the angel of
death
And I am the dead man's son.
And he was buried like a mole in a fox
hole.
And everyone is still in the run.
And who is the master of fox
hounds?
And who says the hunt has begun?
And who calls the tune in the
courtroom?
And who beats the funeral drum?
The memories of a man in
his old age
Are the deeds of a man in his prime.
You shuffle in gloom in
the sickroom
And talk to yourself till you die.
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