Now it is the evening, the day is dying fast;
Curtains closing windows, lights behind the glass.
All the promises of the morning have now been laid to rest;
I think it's time to follow: for I'm tired, and you're warm.
The day broke with a fanfare, and ran on like a hymn;
And now the final chords are drawing what's left in.
The sun shone like a Sunday, the dusk is as pale as dawn;
I think it's time to rest now: for I'm tired, and you're warm.
Copyright © M.J.C. Griffin [ASCAP]