Soft peach of sunrise will soon be gone.
Dusty road beneath his feet, Dare he go?
The man looks back, and then goes on.

Fine hairs of gold crown his head, fair blond.
Inside, thoughts drift, only he shall know.
Dry fire in the sky will soon be gone.

Aloud he sings his life in to a song
His head held high, begins to droop. Feet slow.
The man grown weary, but trudges on.

Orange and purple slide below horizon.
So his spirits, they cease to grow.
The day, once young, will soon be gone.

Gold fades to gray, the crown of youth has fallen.
Age now seen, time becomes the foe.
The man falls down, he stumbles on.

The close of day, it has been long
He sinks in to the earth, heaven shows.
The evening stills and light will soon be gone.
The man now rests, as time goes on.