Dying Leaves - Old Gray

Hands held above our heads, held out as far as they can stretch.

I’m trying to hold on to clouds that are always outside my reach.

I guess you didn’t notice- I fade with the setting sun.

I’m no more alive than the empty home where I grew up.

I find my life is constantly swirling, cliche as it sounds, like leaves in the

wind- twirling in unpredictable patterns until the wind slows down and stops

again.

But leaves crumble under foot and are commonly left to die in the sun- I find

myself begging for drops of rain to grace me but I realize that there are none.

Hands held above our heads, held out as far as they can stretch.

I’m trying to hold on to clouds that are always outside my reach.

I guess you didn’t notice- I fade with the setting sun.

I’m no more alive than the empty home where I grew up.

And when we planted that tree in your front yard, I remember thinking, «I wish I was still young.»

I guess you didn’t notice- I fade with the setting

sun.