I count the hours: you count the days.
Together, we count the minutes in this Passion Play.
Walk dusty miles.
And I ride that train
On a first class ticket, just to be with you again.

Picking up tired feet.
Back from a far horizon.
Cleaned up and brushed down.
Dressed to look the part.

Fresh from God's garden, I bring a gift of roses:
To stand in sweet spring water and press them to your heart.

Like the Kipling cat, I walk alone
Never inviting trouble, never casting the stone.
But this badge of honor is of tarnished tin.
Light your guiding beacon to bring this fisher in.

Picking up tired feet.
Back from a far horizon.
Cleaned up and brushed down.
Dressed to look the part.
Fresh from God's garden, I bring a gift of roses:
To stand in sweet spring water and press them to your heart.

I count the hours: you count the days.
Together, we count the minutes in this Passion Play.
Walk dusty miles.
And I ride that train
On a first class ticket, just to be with you again.

Picking up tired feet.
Back from a far horizon.
Cleaned up and brushed down.
Dressed to look the part.

Fresh from God's garden, I bring a gift of roses:
To stand in sweet spring water and press them to your heart.

Picking up tired feet.
Back from a far horizon.
Cleaned up and brushed down.
Dressed to look the part.

Fresh from God's garden, I bring a gift of roses:
To stand in sweet spring water and press them to your heart.

Copyright: BMG Rights Management
Writer(s): IAN ANDERSON