She writes him a letter to see how he's doing

She's stopped up for words on a pen she keeps chewing

The light from the window flows through her graying hair

The pen on the page is the proof that she still does care



'Cause in the long run the story's told

and in the long run the young grow very, very old



He sits in the park in the dark by his favourite tree

His mind is all lost in a haze of how things used to be

She carried him so far but then had to let him go

He wanted one more chance at least to let her know



'Cause in the long run the heat grows cold

and in the long run the young grow very, very old



He doesn't do much now, just sits by the window light

His hair is so long and his unshaven face so white

His heart feels a part of the breeze that is blowing outside

His eyes now see magic around him at most times



'Cause in the long run the story's told

and in the long run the young grow very, very old



She walks in the morning, it's best before seven

It's that time of day that seems closest to heaven

She finds herself dancing and singing songs out loud

Songs from her childhood suddenly come around



'Cause in the long run the farm gets sold

and in the long run the young grow very, very old



He's ready to go now, he's done with his living

He's gone where he's going, he gave what he's giving

The thousand and one times, he (said?) before dinner

The thousand and two times, (their lives?) growing thinner



'Cause in the long run the story's told

and in the long run the young grow very, very old