It was the summer.
It was the summer
Of roadtrips
And heartbreak,
Of wave breaks,
And road rage,
And sunsets,
And guilt trips.
It was the best of times
And the fast of times
And the worst of times
And the last of times
It was the summer.
It was the summer of
Tollbooths and
Accelerating cars
And as quick as you go
You pull what chases you
Just at fast,
Newton laws,
For it was the summer.
It was the summer
Of never and always
Of fears and futures
Of clairvoyance
And of foolishness.
To look so on trees,
In Summer's waning scorch
And not see the leaves
Changing, is blindness.
But it was the summer
Of changes unseen.
Autumn slipped in silently,
Not through the back,
Like a servant,
But through the front door,
Like an assassin.
Words were had,
Shots were fired.
Summer is dead,
Cradled in Autumn's arms,
Green life turning to crimson
And yellow, and brown.
The past is only
As good as our last summer.
And this one, well,
It was the summer.
It was the summer.