There's always two directions and no one knows the best course,
for my simple and small affections never smudge out my remorse,
And with all four seasons, I only ever see my love grow,
as the heart has it's reasons, reason itself does not know.
I was living in a sunset, counting seconds until the next rise,
but I always fail to forget how the glare stings my eyes.
Coated now with a harsh wind's blow, just one of the four seasons to flaunt,
it's true that only the heart can know what it is that the heart wants.
I see the trees; changing colour with slow seconds in between,
I'll be what's needed of me; yellow, brown, red or green.
They tell me the days will only get longer;
I'm unsure as to if that's good or bad.
"The sun's rays will just hit you stronger,
and your farmer's tan will show up plaid."
And with all four seasons, time moves both fast and slow,
as the heart has it's reasons, reason itself does not know.
