Sitting here on the cool bench
Looking at dark clouds pass over the sun
Seeing the dead leaves drift to the ground
Waves swell and become white.
I hear the birds calling each other
The smell of apples and spice is in the air
I fill my lungs with this special atmosphere
And I think to myself, it's not all bad.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 12:15 PM UTC
Sitting here on the cool bench
Looking at dark clouds pass over the sun
Seeing the dead leaves drift to the ground
Waves swell and become white.
I hear the birds calling each other
The smell of apples and spice is in the air
I fill my lungs with this special atmosphere
And I think to myself, it's not all bad.
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