The lazy days are here once again,
And I don’t want to do a thing,
Just drench in the sun or dry in the rain,
All the soul wants to do is sing.
With a bed to sleep after I vainly roam,
And coffee under the morning sun
I can call any place my home,
And in every direction run.
I haven’t found a desire yet,
And people say it’s ambition I lack,
But I do adore whatever I can get,
Because I know there is no turning back.
You are all men of complicated plots,
And women of winking lust,
And me, I’m too idle to connect the dots
Or let time turn me into dust.
All I have ever killed is time,
So I have not-too-bad soul,
I don’t have the darkness for a crime,
Nor the light for a goal.
All I have these lazy days to call my own,
And all the time one can contain,
Often I wonder at all that has grown,
While I manage to sit back and remain.