The memories of a old man are the deeds of himself in his prime
He suffers in gloom in his sickroom, and talks to himself till he dies.
Life is a short warm moment and death is a long cold rest
You give it a trie try but in the twinkling of your eye
Goes eighty years, if unlucky, much less

So all aboard for the life's tour, maybe you'll make it to the top
But watch how you go, you may find it hard to get off

You are the angel of death and I am the dead man's son
He died like a mole in a fox hole with everyone still in the run
And who masters the fox hounds? When has the hunt begun?
Who calls the tune in your courtroom? Who beats the funeral drum?

The memories of a old man are the deeds of himself in his prime
He suffers in gloom in his sickroom, and talks to himself till he dies.

STAY
Stay and help me to end the day and if you don't mind we'll taste a bottle of wine
Stick around, we'll put one down, because I wanna find what lies behind those blue eyes
Midnight blue burning gold, the yellow moon is growing cold

I rise, looking through my morning eyes, surprised to find you by my side
I rack my brain to remember your name, to find the words to tell you goodbye
Morning dues, newborn day midnight blue turn to gray,
Midnight blue burning gold, the yellow moon has grown cold