Summer days were just a magazine, a magazine
A magazine
A magazine
Cutting grass for gasoline, for gasoline
So I can see ya soon
Fall swooned
Left me drunk in a field
Dandelion wine for a year
And I packed up the dust
Of all that I owned
Handkerchief hung from a pole
I rolled out the day that the apples fell
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This Empty Northern Hemisphere
Evening Machines
The Weatherman
That Sea, The Gambler