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every fool that falls

falls slightly faster

than the apple on the master

quietly napping by a tree



and every time he falls

he finds some reason

some disgraceful mechanism,

to get up and fall again,

then he will say

i'm not going home,

today might be the day

i'm coming to the end of something

yes it's early to let go

now the beggar and the lover are

smiling to one another

like they never did before



with every winter gone i write a letter

and if i was to live forever

i would do it all the same



it is addressed to some fool in the future

one that's older and much looser

just in case he will forget

he used to say:



i'm not going home,

today might be the day,

i'm coming to the end of something

yes it's early to let go

now the beggar and the lover

are smiling to one another

and saying to themselves

we're not going home,

today might be the day

we're coming to the end of something

yes it's early to let go

now the beggar and the lover

are smiling to one another

and singing to themselves