Winter Air.

A beggar in the street,
Old man in a ship,
And you and I,
All have more to come.

Life can end now,
It could all disappear in a flash
And it could stretch on endlessly
But there's so much more to come.

For the fish down the stream
And a fiddle in a barn
And echoes in a cave,
There's infinitely more to come.

A stone in the river,
A tree no one can hear,
Wind in an empty field,
And winter air.

History can die, it can live,
Thoughts lose their way
But there'll always be more
to come.