| Where we live spring comes early
|
| Trees in bloom when the northern country
|
| Is covered in snow, oh
|
| A windy fitful day in winter
|
| Charging toward the Ides of May
|
| The climate now is cling to splinters
|
| We hold hands while we work and play
|
| And hope tomorrow is a sunny day
|
| Where we live men are women
|
| Women are teenage boys
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| And everybody wants to look like them
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| But be like men
|
| A windy fitful day in winter
|
| Charging toward the Ides of May
|
| The climate now is cling to splinters
|
| We hold hands while we work and play
|
| And hope tomorrow is a sunny day
|
| Rubens would have loved you
|
| And painted you that way
|
| With your pen and paper
|
| Paying quiet attention to a lady with a plastic face
|
| So thin, so thin she might blow away
|
| A windy fitful day in winter
|
| Charging toward the Ides of May
|
| The climate now is cling to splinters
|
| We hold hands while we work and play
|
| A windy fitful day in winter
|
| Charging toward the Ides of May
|
| The climate now is cling to splinters
|
| We hold hands while we work and play
|
| And hope tomorrow is a sunny day |