76 acessos
Can’t stop thinking ’bout it
It fills me with unease
Out there by the roadside something’s buried
Under sycamore leaves
Wet grounds, late September
The foliage of the trees
I came upon this feeling that someone’s lying
Covered by sycamore leaves
And I could never make it
And I could never see
And I could never break out
And shake its grip on me