Sondheim loved ambivalence, and he loved Comden and Green. These two could find a poem in a small moment of tension:
Where has the time all gone to?
Haven't done half the things we want to.
Oh well, we'll catch up some other time.
The speaker is upset that a playdate is ending. He had a big bag of time and now--magically--it's empty.
Just when the fun is starting--
Comes the time for parting.
But let's just be glad for what we had--
And what's to come...
If you have to command yourself to feel glad, it's likely you don't feel glad. There is a hint of melancholy in between the lines.
There's so much more embracing
Still to be done, but time is racing.
Oh well, we'll catch up some other time.
That last line is repeated, and repeated, and repeated. It's like the speaker has to persuade himself it's true. And who knows if we'll catch up some other time? That's life. Time is racing.
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