There's nothing to do about it, friend,

All good things must come to an end,

Someday you'll wake up one Sunday morning,

But the sun won't be shining, and the rain will be pouring,

You'll sit out in your rocking chair like an actor who's lost his fame,

The grassy aroma won't smell so sweet, and the coffee won't taste the same,

The afternoons won't seems so brilliant, like a classic symphony,

Your lady friend will have long since passed, leaving you without company,

The nights won't be so peaceful, the moon won't shine so bright,

You'll see it only as the end of the day you gave up the grueling fight,

You'll go to sleep in hopes of dreaming your life was still so great,

But only come to realize dying in your sleep was your lonely fate,

For the light can only shine so bright, before it begins to doubt,

You'll ever see it for what it is, and that's when it just burns out.