seasons



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    1. 1970-ci ildə çıxmış magna carta albomu və albomun 22 dəqiqəlik ilk mahnısı. başdan ayağa akustik gitara ilə bəzənmiş melodiyalar insanı məst edir. fəsillərin dəyişməsini hiss etməmək əldə deyil.

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    This is the turning of the year
    The final scene before the curtain falls
    The squirrel, warm within his bed

    of leaves cannot hear the wind
    that blows around the chimney pots
    For like the pilgrim of the year gone by

    Once he was a young man
    who laughed in the spring
    And lay beneath an upturned sky
    on long hot summer days

    But with autumn he grows mellow
    He looks over his shoulder
    Down the long year path of no return

    Already he is but a memory
    Fading like a shadow on the wall
    But time with restless footsteps
    hurries by and now beside the road
    There stands the pilgrim
    of the year to be

    Falling leaves turn to gold
    Silver flowers on my window
    Spirit of the fading year
    He knows not where
    He cannot say, oh no

    Naked trees in the sky
    Stars are shining clear and cold
    The minstrel of the ages
    sings of oh so long ago
    An age old tune without a name
    No one knows

    In the white falling snow
    The pilgrim travels on
    His face towards the sun
    Beyond the open road he travels on

    Past the lamp shining windows
    And faces by the fire
    Before the midnight hour
    For Christmas time
    has come around again

    Go to sleep, little child
    You shouldn't be awake
    Go to sleep little child
    Time to let the night go by

    Waiting for the sound of a magic sleigh
    The chimneys not too tall they say
    Or the roof too high for a reindeer to fly
    No not too high for a reindeer to fly

    The clock strikes twelve
    on a street below
    They hurry to a church to pray
    "Forgive our sins and negligence
    Accept our humble penitence
    It's been a year ago today
    Since we were here"

    Choir gently sings an anthem
    Not too loud or out of key
    Congregation turn eye corners
    When the plate goes round to see
    Who gives the most on Christmas day
    The most on Christmas day

    Twilight days are slipping far away
    Just sand into an hour glass
    For winter time is slowly passed
    And cannot last forever

    North wind turn your back
    upon the doors that you have blown
    West wind melt the organ pipes of ice
    That glitter on the eaves
    of the houses in the town

    And the sun wakes up the flowers
    That slumber through the winter
    And warms the sleepy faces
    Waiting for the spring

    The skies of steel
    and fields white with frost
    are memories of yesterday

    And while scarecrow children
    search the hedgerows and splash
    through muddy pools for secrets
    The spirit of the spring
    with the sunbeams on her hair
    shakes the sleeping earth

    And with the pilgrim by her side
    She murmurs in the trees
    And in the ears of all who listen
    "Now time to wake for winter has gone"

    With flowers in her hair
    She smiles again and like a child
    cares nothing for tomorrow

    She spreads her wings
    Catch her if you see her
    in your mind's eye
    For she smiles in a Mona Lisa way

    Sun is rising
    from a cloud above your head
    When you instead are sleeping

    All is knowing, all is growing
    And no one knows
    which way their mind is blowing

    And now she finds
    her work is almost done
    And like a child
    cares nothing for tomorrow
    And like a child
    cares nothing for tomorrow
    And like a child thinks only for today

    The pilgrim wanders with the spirit
    of the spring, enchanted
    As if tomorrow will never come

    But time is running out
    And as she bids him farewell
    Only the echo of her voice remains

    For now she flies
    On the bare back of the south wind
    Across the naked mountains
    Above the winding rivers
    Breathing gently on the meadows

    Scattering her flowers
    into the grass and the hedgerows
    Fading through the back door

    Long summer day
    Golden fingers pointing at my doorway
    Meadow sleeping
    Watching for the sky to turn you on

    The air filled with heytime
    Blowing past a flower-print lady
    On a seat in the park
    Wears a paper on her head
    She never read at all
    She's just keeping her mind in the dark
    Keeping her mind in the dark

    You know she's cool
    She's just like an ice-cream man
    And don't you see what I mean
    She's doing the best that she can
    Doing the best that she can

    Hey Mr. Sunshine
    Like a Harlequin you're dancing
    on my picture book today
    Ooh It's a good time
    And I'm floating far away

    Chew on a candy-floss
    in the pouring rain
    Kids are crying again
    Kids are crying again

    Holiday time
    Down on a beach with the crowd
    Trying to look for the sun
    Taking whatever you can
    And your deckchair is an island
    In a kaleidoscope world

    Jamming cars, crowded bars
    Standing trains or smell the drains
    The quiver in the heat of the city street
    God, I must get away

    Hey Mr. Sunshine
    And I'm floating far away

    Down the wide open road
    The pilgrim travels on
    His face towards the sun
    Beyond the open road he travels on

    And the waves steal the footprints
    Of the summer from the sand
    Beneath the silver moon
    The North wind blows
    the fading leaves again

    Around and around
    All has nearly turned full circle
    The warm lazy days of sunshine
    And brown rivers
    winding through the meadows
    are a tale of yesterday

    The pilgrim sighs
    And draws his mantle close
    about him in the smoky evening

    He watches the leaves wither and fall
    Frost has rimmed the pools with ice
    And hung diamonds
    in the spider's web

    For this is the turning of the year
    The final scene before the curtain falls
    And now beside the road there stands
    the pilgrim of the year to be

    Falling leaves turn to gold
    Silver flowers on my window
    Spirit of the fading year
    He knows not where
    He cannot say


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