In this great city that has no end;
Yet days go by, and weeks rush on,
And before I know it a year is 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 with playing a foolish game,
Tired with trying to make a name.
"Tomorrow," I say, "I will call on Jim,
Just to show I am thinking of him."
But tomorrow comes - and tomorrow goes,
And the distance between us grows and grows.
Around the corner! - yet miles away...
"Here's the telegram, Sir...
'Jim died today'."
And that's what we get, and deserve in the end:
Around the corner, a vanished friend.