Вступление
Can't stop thinking 'bout it
It fills me with unease
-
Out there by the roadside something's buried
Under sycamore leaves
Wet grounds, late September
The foliage of the trees
I came upon this feeling that someone's lying
Covered by sycamore leaves
And I could never face it
And take a look and see
And I could never break out
And shake it's grip on me