The flowering trees made flowers: the bees were delighted.
The sun shining down through the leaves for the dull and excited.
The first time we kissed was both near- and far-sighted,
But the heat of our hot daytime love always felt so benighted.
So we're plucking the haw from the hawthorne, the blue from the berry
Destroying the last of the things that made you feel merry
While the stones all come crumbling down from the last monastery
It's the weight of the sand when she calls you "her man"
It's the hand in your hand
It's the look in her eye when you're telling her why
It's the last of the summer's last gasp.
AGRICULTURE IS SO FUCKING OVER-RATED
It's too hard to get laid when you're locally dirt dedicated.
The owls the owls
Inventing their vowels
We throw down our trowels
And pick up their yowls
Our double-nocturnal endeavors will never be sated
It's your pants in the dirt when she takes of her shirt
It's the hand in your hand
It's the look in her eye when she tells you "bye bye"
It's the last of the summer's last gasp.
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