Fourths us again to come to man 
After the season when the sun is bound 
It seems like the winter is at her feet 
Despite all the flu sign it’s time for me 
Sweet is the sound to make homes grey 
The sun to the widows who have their say 
Lies in the south inside the nose 
Dead in the basement to the song 
Feels like the autumn burst into the flames 
It makes this adequate to call out your name 
Passing of the seasons has been felt before 
Chills our perceptions of the world before 
Carries home on the broken wing 
More than a message for the sweet insane