And with a trip to the window And a breath to paint the peace What of a late cold December To break about the rush of bees And all the while the figure's speaking
Words are freaking out about which The Adam and he's adamant which Always under the sycamore bush His father pleads Don't ask this this way Words are freaking out about which The Adam and he's adamant which Always under the sycamore bush His father pleads Don't ask this this way
Swore the theives with an inkling Fall's better pageant for the breeze Such a sweet do today to dream Or that I could paint this picture-perfect scene And all the while the figure's speaking