Peter Trutmann Seasons
Seasons come and seasons go
Where love goes we don’t know.
It has it’s own say
That can’t be held or locked away.
If reason had played it's hand
We’d only remained friends.
So much I don’t understand
Guess that’s part of the romance.
Why love left I don’t know
And I know I shouldn’t mourn.
It’s gift I did not own
The magic was to have known, you.
Instrumental
And all the leaves are turning brown
They are dying on the ground.
All the leaves are falling down,
See it only seasons turning round.
Go freely on your way.
Thanks for the beauty and the pain.
For the riches that you gave.
All the sacredness to save.
To save, to save.
Seasons come and seasons go
Where love goes we don’t know.
