(kurt weill/maxwell anderson)
For it's a long, long time
From may to december
And the days grow short
When you reach september
And the autumn weather
Turns the leaves to flame
And I haven't got time
For the waiting game
And the days dwindle down
To a precious few
September november
And these few precious days
I'd spend with you
These golden days
I'd spend with you
When you meet with the young man early in spring
They court you in song and rhyme
They woo you with words and a clover ring
But if you examine the goods they bring
They have little to offer but the songs they sing
And a plentiful waste of time of day
A plentiful waste of time
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