(Maxwell AndersonKurt Weill)

When I was a young man courting the girls

I played me a waiting game.

If a maid refused me with tossing curls

I'd let the old earth take a couple of twirls

And I'd ply her with tears instead of pearls

And as time came around, she came my way

As time came around, she came



But it's a long, long while from May to December

And the days grow short when you reach September.

The autumn weather turns the leaves to flame

And I haven't got the time for the waiting game.



Oh, the days dwindle down to precious few;

September, November.

And these few precious days I'll spend with you.

These precious days I'll spend with you.