In the autumn of my madness when my hair is turning grey

for the milk has finally curdled and I've nothing left to say

When all my thoughts are spoken (save my last departing birds)

bring all my friends unto me and I'll strangle them with words



In the autumn of my madness which in coming won't be long

for the nights are now much darker and the daylight's not so strong

and the things which I believed in are no longer quite enough

for the knowing is much harder and the going's getting rough