Whenever I get to feel this way
Try to find new words to say
I think about the bad old days
We used to know

Nights of winter turn me cold
Fears of dying, getting old
We ran the race, the race was won
By running slowly

Could be soon we'll cease to sound
Slowly upstairs, faster down
Then to revisit stony grounds
We used to know

Remembering mornings, shillings spent
Made no sense to leave the bed
The bad old days they came and went
Giving way to fruitful years

Saving up the birds in hand
While in the bush the others land
Take what we can before the man
Says it's time to go

Each to his own way I'll go mine
Best of luck with what you find
But for your own sake remember times
We used to know

Copyright: BMG Rights Management
Writer(s): Ian Anderson