Smell of old days

Sometimes the falling
Of the gentle rain
Reminds me, old man
Of the old days.

I still hear the calling
Of pleasure and pain
Me, the old man
From the old days.

I still feel the smell
Of fresh summer grain
The noise of my pen
Writing´ bout my ways.

I still see the ceiling
Where we played old games
My grandfathers tea can
And long, long chess plays.

And in reflection
Of sun on the sea
I can still see
Your smiling face

I´m asking myself
Where have we gone?
And where have it gone
Our everlasting grace?

The wind answers me
And I hear it´s moan
Where have we gone
Where have we gone.

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