Running my right hand down a rain soaked window
The colour of the evening sky is dark and grey
Deep within the leaves of early November stir and rustle
The loving kiss of a March gone past

The children on the street gaze intently as I go by
Cold and quiet, pain in my eyes
The weather has turned cold now
Like most else
The face of this reality
Morality without

Realization that this path leads nowhere fast
The last love
The best I have ever had
Would if I could
Go back

Hand in hand
Like nothing happened
The record plays again