"The Art Of Getting Lost" lyrics
The Cast of The Unlikely Pilgrimage Of Harold Fry & Passenger Lyrics
(from "The Unlikely Pilgrimage Of Harold Fry" soundtrack)
But you can't get cross
When you get lost
It's just a cost of, well, living
And you can't expect to find your way
Without the odd misgiving
I'm fifty-four and to be sure
I'm a little more forgiving
To myself, now that I'm older
And I've lived a life worth living
See, I married young to a farmer's son
I was loud and funny, he was quiet and strong
And we worked the land till the work was done
In the pouring rain and the baking sun
And I loved my life and he loved his wife
We'd spoon at night like fork and knife
We thought that family life would be a given
Well, we reared up cows and we raised up pigs
And we tried and tried, but we got no kids
And I cried and cried, but he never did
But I knew inside what he kept well hid
And the years rolled on like a country song
Doctors couldn't say what was wrong
Wondered if we had a life worth living
See, there ain't no secret shortcut
There ain't no simple cure
One day you're smelling roses
The next you smell manure
Then every time you think you've found
Your way you can be sure
There'll be another curveball
Smashing through your door
He were fifty-one when his time had come
He was baling hay in the midday sun
I saw him sway and drop and
By the time the ambulance had finally come
He'd long left Devon, he was up in heaven
And if I know him he'll still be up at seven
And I miss him and the love that he'd be giving
See, there ain't no flipping cheat code
There ain't no magic wand
One day you're sipping champagne
Next you're wading through a pond
And every time you think
You understand the road you're on
It twists and turns and chucks and churns
You out somewhere along
Seemed for a while I couldn't understand
Why I'd been cursed to farm a barren land
But in the end I figure I must try
For it's not a life worth living if you're waiting 'round to die
Oh, there ain't no rhyme or reason
There ain't no solid ground
Life changes with the seasons
And the years keep spinning 'round
And all that I can say
Though not poetic or profound
Is the art of getting lost
Is the key to being found
Yes, the art of getting lost
Is the key to being found
When you get lost
It's just a cost of, well, living
And you can't expect to find your way
Without the odd misgiving
I'm fifty-four and to be sure
I'm a little more forgiving
To myself, now that I'm older
And I've lived a life worth living
See, I married young to a farmer's son
I was loud and funny, he was quiet and strong
And we worked the land till the work was done
In the pouring rain and the baking sun
And I loved my life and he loved his wife
We'd spoon at night like fork and knife
We thought that family life would be a given
Well, we reared up cows and we raised up pigs
And we tried and tried, but we got no kids
And I cried and cried, but he never did
But I knew inside what he kept well hid
And the years rolled on like a country song
Doctors couldn't say what was wrong
Wondered if we had a life worth living
See, there ain't no secret shortcut
There ain't no simple cure
One day you're smelling roses
The next you smell manure
Then every time you think you've found
Your way you can be sure
There'll be another curveball
Smashing through your door
He were fifty-one when his time had come
He was baling hay in the midday sun
I saw him sway and drop and
By the time the ambulance had finally come
He'd long left Devon, he was up in heaven
And if I know him he'll still be up at seven
And I miss him and the love that he'd be giving
See, there ain't no flipping cheat code
There ain't no magic wand
One day you're sipping champagne
Next you're wading through a pond
And every time you think
You understand the road you're on
It twists and turns and chucks and churns
You out somewhere along
Seemed for a while I couldn't understand
Why I'd been cursed to farm a barren land
But in the end I figure I must try
For it's not a life worth living if you're waiting 'round to die
Oh, there ain't no rhyme or reason
There ain't no solid ground
Life changes with the seasons
And the years keep spinning 'round
And all that I can say
Though not poetic or profound
Is the art of getting lost
Is the key to being found
Yes, the art of getting lost
Is the key to being found
