My mate has midsummer light and it’s filling his cup
He’s getting closer up with the spark
hugging soft sheets as we speak
My voice is dry and tired it sounds just like all the moans and squeaks

Sitting, touching wrinkled forehead and callused hands
Another warm beer will read my mind
Pouring golden over my pining cheeks
Somethings wrong here and it tries
and tries to hide but it leaks