These Days

Powderfinger

These Days

it's coming round again

the slowly creeping hand

of time and its command

soon enough it comes

and settles in its place

its shadow in my face

puts pressure in my day

this life well its slipping right through my hands

these days turned out nothing

like I had planned

it's coming round again

the slowly creeping hand

of time and its demands

it settles in its place

its shadow in my face

undignified and lame

this life well its slipping right though my hands

these days turned out nothing

like I had planned

control well its slipping right through my hands

these days turned out nothing

like I had planned

soon enough it comes

to tie us down


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