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)