Let’s start this song with a stroll around
Late and cold we wander; smell of sale and cumber walks.
The faster we go the quicker we’ll end, with lack of homegrowns in the gardens we tend.

Tada to townlight fire.
Forks in the road we’re not.

A rush of spring makes diamond rings
Of grass blades some and everything.
Beige-backed jumpers scared from those crooked stares, proved wrong
On public roads named by our attic air.

Tada to townlight fire
Forks in the road we’re not, spoons more so we’re caught.

This town is dead from too much living, let’s make our ending from new beginnings.
Let’s raise a barn from strongest of cedar and leave it all to forces of nature.