| When I feel a breeze
|
| The sounds as people mow their gardens
|
| Grass has never been greener
|
| Along these streets we ran together
|
| When I see the trees that sweet
|
| The ones we climbed when we were young
|
| And from the tops we’d laugh and wonder
|
| Wonder all day long
|
| But the hours become days
|
| And the weeks carry us away
|
| Summer becomes winter again
|
| But the hours become days
|
| And the weeks carry us away
|
| Summer becomes winter again
|
| Along these alleys we would run
|
| Firing guns and falling over
|
| We would play until September
|
| We would sleep without a care
|
| And from our beds we’d scare ourselves
|
| With tales of ghosts that we had made up
|
| Sound asleep with the window open
|
| Nothing bad there was (?)
|
| But the hours become days
|
| And the weeks carry us away
|
| Summer becomes winter again
|
| But the hours become days
|
| And the weeks carry us away
|
| Summer becomes winter again |