4d
November comes in waves,
First, the leaves turn orange,
And fall from the trees.
Second, the last summer bird flies away,
And the city is left lonely,
With the haunting song of the crows.
Third, the winds turn bitter and cold,
And those who walk the streets dwindle,
Till Iām walking the city and find Iām alone.
First, the leaves turn orange,
And fall from the trees.
Second, the last summer bird flies away,
And the city is left lonely,
With the haunting song of the crows.
Third, the winds turn bitter and cold,
And those who walk the streets dwindle,
Till Iām walking the city and find Iām alone.
This goes out to everyone who's feeling lonely, it's too cold now in days.
(14/M/Rochester NY)
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