Morning
Most times we don’t think about it,
But it comes everyday.
Most times we’re just so busy,
That it quietly slips away.
I think as we get older we come to appreciate it more,
Because we don’t know how many more we’ll see.
But it’s a shame how long it has to take,
For this to come to be.
Within it is the orchestra of life,
Some who will play the whole day through.
The instruments are often soft and sweet,
Sometimes you must concentrate to listen to.
Most times we don’t think about it,
But it comes every day.
Most times we’re just so busy,
That it quietly slips away.
I hope by now you understand,
That what it is of which I speak.
They come everyday without fail,
Seven days a week.
But it comes everyday.
Most times we’re just so busy,
That it quietly slips away.
I think as we get older we come to appreciate it more,
Because we don’t know how many more we’ll see.
But it’s a shame how long it has to take,
For this to come to be.
Within it is the orchestra of life,
Some who will play the whole day through.
The instruments are often soft and sweet,
Sometimes you must concentrate to listen to.
Most times we don’t think about it,
But it comes every day.
Most times we’re just so busy,
That it quietly slips away.
I hope by now you understand,
That what it is of which I speak.
They come everyday without fail,
Seven days a week.
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