(spoken)

A matter of growing old when we're young it's May
Wonderful, beautiful, glorious May
Then middle age is like the turning of the year
It's September and finally December comes
It's a long long while

From May to December
For the days grow short when you reach September
When autumn weather
Turns the leaves to flame
One hasn't got the time for the waiting game
Oh the days dwindle down to a precious few
September
November
And these few precious days
I'll spend with you
These precious days I'll spend
September
November
With you