Sometimes I cry.
Sometimes I fall.
Most times I learn nothing at all.
But everytime I try to reach beyond my grasp,
the things that I take hold of never last.
And I say; why am I living in. living in this world dreaming of the past?
Why am I living in, living in this world with things that just won't last?
Sometimes I run.
Sometimes I crawl.
Most times I get nowhere at all.
But every time I try to reach beyond my grasp,
the things that I take hold of never last.
And I ask why in every waking moment of every perfect day,
the things that I have told you seem to slip away.
And every time I reach out for things that just won't last,
I know it's just my conscience reaching for the past.
And I say; why am I living in, living in this world dreaming of the past?
Why am I living in, living in this world with things that just won't last?
I'm running in and running out of time and I know I'm falling away.
In every waking moment, of every perfect day,
the things that I have told you seem to slip away.
And every time I reach out for the things that just won't last,
I know it's just my conscience sreaming for the past.
