phil I will come along with blueberry stains on my hands. 50 years old asking the wind where the to go, singing about rain and thinking about things that can't be seen. And you won't be looking for me, but then you'll see, quick sharp image in the corner of your eye, something like a light that would make you remember to go wash your face before you came outside.
And we would make a swing between the trees where we could sit and watch the waves, until the dark came out, and noone walked by we'd kiss in our bare feet (it'd be gross cause we're old), and I would say I remembered this place in some strange way, and if you just followed me, that I'd strangle you.
And when you woke up in the muddy bank, I would bend down and ask you if you would do it again, and you would say "yes, it was worth it".
And we could start again.

So, I wouldn't go out in the fields, I wouldn't go out in the snow, and wouldn't stay home in the warmth, and I wouldn't find someone to hold, I would stay outside and walk down the stream until I find your house and the broke apart swing. I would walk by like I was from out of town, and the water would run and you would come down, and the children would play around, and at the end of the day, I would hunch down and look up at your eyes, and you would lean in with some suprise.
what's it to you?
who go