The Work

Do the years add up to the suck and the blow
of a breath and a beating heart there must be more
You can wash your face at the sunset psalm (???)
but the lines will still remain, they'll never be gone
Will you bely (???) your land with a furrowed brow
but king harvest leaves with a thinning crown
You may bow your head as the hair recedes
but it's filled with years that no one can steal
When the work stops working what was light becomes a
weight
When the work stops working shall we pack it all in?
When the work stops working and the weight becomes an
ache
When the work stops working shall we pack it all in?
or start again?
Ah the search for answers is an idiot's task
I'm not halfway there but don't want to ask
The search gives the glint to the older eye
and I'll keep on looking till the day I die
Is the work half worth it when your hands grow old
(???)
when your knees keep creeking like an old barn door
The gloves of love become an old man's friend
and you'll learn to make a stand not to stoop and bend
When the work stops working what was light becomes a
weight
When the work stops working shall we pack it all in?
When the work stops working and the weight becomes an
ache
When the work stops working shall we pack it all in?
or start again?
The lines remain and they will never be gone
Our life is filled with years no one can steal
I'll keep on looking till the day I die
I'll learn to make a stand not stoop and bend
When the work stops working what was light becomes a
weight
When the work stops working shall we pack it all in?
When the work stops working and the weight becomes an
ache
When the work stops working shall we pack it all in?
or start again?