Words and Music by Dennis Livingston

For a long time, I have been content to live my life alone.
In an orderly existence,
the path of least resistance,
has been the path I like to call my own.

Then I saw her/him at the bookstore
standing next to Schopenhauer.
She/He liked Car Talk, I liked Bartok, as I should.
We had tea, we talked till ten,
sharing thoughts from art to zen.
We made plans to meet as often as we could.

But still, it's not so easy,
in a life that's quite complete,
to contemplate a change I haven't sought.
Surrounded by my books,
crowded into cozy nooks,
it's not yet TIME FOR ROSES, so I thought.

Now I can't believe what's happened,
I've become a wretched mess,
full of doubts and odd confusions I don't need.
Though I find it hard to say,
I admit I've lost my way,
I can't fathom where the road I've taken leads.

It can't be TIME FOR ROSES,
I'm not feeling all that sweet.
Instead I hear the bugle,
that old familiar bugle,
the one that keeps on sounding my retreat.

  And yet ...
I look forward to her/his presence,
no, it's more than that, I fear.
I've begun to play the classic love-struck fool.
Paltry words cannot express
what she/he says with one caress ...

I wonder what would happen
if I put aside my pose of deprecating ridicule,
and changed my script to make room for a slightly different cast.
I know IT'S TIME FOR ROSES, at last.


© 1997 Hallmark Music Co.


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