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
