In the final hours
With all my toy dreams tattered
And all my singing scattered
Out upon the wind.
And now the end will find me,
not prepared and strong the way I thought I was,
but thinking from the start how very caught I was,
as though it mattered now.
Now the dying flowers,
sing an old song that haunts me,
and now nobody wants me,
all alone.
Lost between the last of summer's showers
These are the final hours.
compositores: Jimmy Webb
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