drop on each side. No place to hide behind my head. The star of the day throws himself away, again. His chair is on fire, you must put it out somehow. Now begin. The yellowest leaves, bright on the gray, wet on the sidewalk.

Ignores all his friends; a means to an end, so it ends. The light found its way into another cave, away. He won't hear the words. One can not believe the herds dressed all the same. The yellowest leaves, bright on the gray, still in the cold.

He shakes hands with time, never thinks to whine, he sets to work. walk on the beach, for one who gets to see it spin. All permanence lost, good voyage wished, and a good goodbye. The yellowest leaves, they're bright on the gray, waiting to go