| Something I wish I’d ever told you
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| Hurrying back to twenty, -one, -two
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| Is thinking about those greenish-colored eyes are on the first of
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| Every wet and humbled head ashamed of love
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| I’m serious, man, I can’t stop feeling
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| Going out naked nature, air thin
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| Coming on home to sand and water, lamb and slaughter, first of
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| Holiday time and making pie
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| Something I wish I’d ever told you
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| Is flying on planes I’d like to hold you
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| And nerves like never justified the feeling inside the first of
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| Many old worries
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| And it’s worth it to me
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| To skate around the bad times
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| And all the little feelings
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| Get tucked away at bed times
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| What does it mean to take someone’s heart?
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| And how do I dare not take it apart?
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| 'Cause thumbs and knuckles all are white with innocent spite the first of
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| Typical sign of dark night
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| What do I say if taking my time means rushing all the wrong things?
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| I’d rather you take my mane
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| And deal with the bucking and fucking up again because
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| It’s worth it to me
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| To skate around the bad times
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| And all the little feelings |
| Get tucked away at bed times
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| And I never really
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| Would think about tomorrow
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| 'Cause gurgling and reeling
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| I’d wile away and drown in maple sorrow
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| Autumn, breast of fall |