And before I know it, a year has gone,
And I never see my old friend's face,
For life is a swift and terrible race.
He knows I like him just as well
As in the days when I rang his bell,
And he rang mine, we were younger then
And now we are busy, tired men,
Tired of playing the foolish game,
Tired with trying to make a name.
"Tomorrow" I say, "I'll call on Jim