Can't Stop Thinking 'bout It
It Fills Me With Unease
Out There By The Roadside Something's Buried
Under Sycamore Leaves


Wet Grounds, Late September
The Foliage Of The Trees
I Came Upon This Feeling That Someone's Lying
Covered By Sycamore Leaves


And I Could Never Face It
And Take A Look And See
And I Could Never Break Out
And Shake It's Grip On Me