Come, you silly, don’t you know,
When you go and I go,
There will be another show
With new acts and new motifs—
Our words like fallen leaves
Will descend upon the ground,
They will die without a sound—
Like a flame that’s bright and brief.
Come, you silly, don’t you know,
When you go and I go,
There will be more average Joes
With new sets of old beliefs.
Our words will disappear
In a crowd of deaf ears—
Like a flame that’s bright and brief.
Come, you silly, don’t you know,
It won’t matter where we go
From this world of joy and grief—
Our words will still ring loud
In seclusion, in a crowd,
In the libraries and bars,
Our words like horns of cars
Will ring loud and disappear—
Sometimes there, sometimes here—
Like our life that’s bright and brief.
By posting them here, words you wrote a long time ago, their life may be extended immensely.
Like famous authors and poets who weren't discovered until they were long dead, one never knows when one of the phrases that we have written will be picked up and immortalized.
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Like famous authors and poets who weren't discovered until they were long dead, one never knows when one of the phrases that we have written will be picked up and immortalized.
Ron