Текст песни Next Year - Marika Hackman

Oh, Father Time, grow me, change me
Age and shed the infant skin that was mine
Did you hear the wind howling, growling?
She knows something, she is older than I am

Progress is slow on this hard heart that I grow
I'll love a lot next year

Beat to the drum
Constant motion, vessels pulsing
Every second, we die
Hands to the sun
Burning, breathing, glowing, healing
Sustenance of the sky

Wholemeal and coal are better for the soul
But I believe in blood and lust

Oh, Father Time, rock me gently
I'm not ready, can't we stay for a while?
And listen to the wind, melody of melancholy
She's a lullaby

Oh, send me to sleep, and my mother, she will weep
Alma mater I've not met
And here's to the womb, and the human catacomb
I am not a child quite yet
And I am not a child quite yet