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THIS IS THE SEASON

(for saying it plain)



This is the season for saying it plain.
Rain on the window is washing the pane.
Somewhere within, my honest eyes see,
the work underway, and the unfinished me.

I can't paint my soul with lies anymore.
Can't say I'm alright, when I'm not.
Like waves of the sea, washing the shore,
Time's bringing back things I forgot.

Chorus
How many years - or is it just days ?
Time is elastic that's sprung.
Time's not a calendar's squared off maze.
Part of me's old. Part of me's young.
Part of me's rising. Part falls like the rain,
and this is the season for saying it plain.

Scenes pass like photos taken through years.
Records of happiness, sorrows, and fears,
like a tapestry's threads, both light and dark,
and the skilled Hands that weave with spiritual art.

Oh I know I'm not a work that's complete.
I know the Weaver has more threads to bring.
I've learned to cherish the sad and the sweet,
and this is the season for saying it plain.

Chorus
How many years - or is it just days ?
Time is elastic that's sprung.
Time's not a calendar's squared off maze.
Part of me's old. Part of me's young.
Part of me's rising. Part falls like the rain,
and this is the season for saying it plain.
This is the season for saying it plain.

( © 2003 - "Future Folk" Music - Betty J. Curtis )


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