We're always running through fields aren't we
Waiting to grow up is like waiting for tomorrow
And you wait and you live and you forget you're waiting
But it doesn't matter
We look back we peek back through the brambles
Of course you don't see what was really there
You never see what is really there
Because nothing stays
Not us not anyone not wind through grass like the sea not the sea
We'll not be so foolish as to wait now for yesterday
We can't stop running it's all downhill from everywhere
Take a long good look in all directions
Then take a flying

J. Horne