the occupation of the hour

 what memory paints is never truly told

yet what we find are more than ghosts of care

since every sunset turned the green trees gold

 

we do our best to praise and not to scold

to bring about a time that is more fair

what memory paints is never truly told

 

there was less good in crazy days of old

when crudity and harshness were laid bare

since every sunset turned the green trees gold

 

we thought less then of hearts cruel and cold

ruling a world in fetters of despair

what memory paints is never truly told

 

but now the tale is starting to unfold

the outline's wholly visible out there

since every sunset turned the  green trees gold

 

there's no more talk of how much has been sold

nor or the price to put upon the air

what memory paints is never truly told

since every sunset turned the green trees gold