The wind blows the ashes of summer, and pulls the tar paper face on the hooding the marmalade cat, with dark mangled ears slips through the fence without speaking this is my world and home football and marbles and coming home late if you dare I look at the face in the mirror, I know it so well, but I don’t know at all and the child books are weary, and fade on the shelves with things that were precious now dusty this is my yesterday and the friends that I knew, have all gone now and now now is the time for the leavin’ in a corner she sits, by the fire she seeks the words that somehow elude her and the yesterday face, a picture with moustache looks down to the ground from the mantelpiece this is my world alone the blue cotton dress and the man on the cross on the wall then why must you go, are the words that she’s found there’s a job in the paper, that’s firm five minutes from home and the pay is real good and the prospects get better, they say how can I tell you now good bye must be all I can say and now and now now is the time for the leavin’ and now and now now is the time for the leavin’ (repeat to fade)
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