When I was a young man, courting the girls,
I played me a waiting game.
If a maid refused me with tossing curls,
I let the earth take a couple of whirls.
While I plied her with tears in lieu of pearls.
And as time came around, she came my way,
And as time came around, she came.
Oh it's a long, long while, from May to December
But the days grow short, when you reach September.
When the autumn weather, turns the leaves to flame,
One hasn't got time, for the waiting game.
Oh, the days dwindle down, to a precious few.
September. November.
And these few precious days, I'll spend with you.
These precious days, I'll spend with you.
Oh, the days dwindle down, to a precious few.
September. November.
And these few precious days, I'll spend with you.
These precious days, I'll spend with you.
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