we turn the calendar

 

we turn the calendar to the last page
the year is ending with its power of pain
not wholly cleansed by the december rain

so much the wise and witty could not gauge
nor those who are too proud to bear the stain
we turn the calendar to the last page

our tears speak sorrow while our minds speak rage
we would not face this mass of lies again
and with the nightfall not a thing stays plain
we turn the calendar to the last page

we weigh our words

we weigh our words and mete them out with care
the message that we send puts us in dutch
but still and all we're seeing out the year

the signal will be sent with time to spare
to those who will remain beyond our clutch
we weigh our words and mete them out with care

let all the foolish stand about and stare
we find we've used the standard aging crutch
but still and all we're seeing out the year

the ones who worry have never been rare
but we have never thought we would do such
we weigh our words and mete them out with care

not one of us who could be thought a player
nobody claims that we've done very much
but still and all we're seeing out the year

crowds laugh and gather in each village square
not one of whom will truly stay in touch
we weigh our words and mete them out with care
but still and all we're seeing out the year