As the leaves fall yellowing like aged paper Thoughts turn acrid and curl like cigarette smoke Rising from a butt ground out on my arm Step into this
As the leaves fall yellowing like aged paper, thoughts turn acrid and curl like cigarette smoke rising from a butt ground out on my arm. Step into this
can't remember your face anymore Your mouth has changed, your eyes don't look into mine The priest wore black on the seventh day And sat stone-faced while the building burned
priest wore black on the seventh day and sat stone-faced while the building burned. I waited for you on the running boards, near the cypress trees, while the springtime turned Slowly into autumn
