Wasn't it a little strange, the motion of going?
I was hiding in a dust chord when the light started showing
While you were searching for seasons and finding your high
I was probably in the grooviest years of my life
I fell asleep in winter, I was tired of your fire
But you were standing on a staircase, it was all I required
I turned you on to the feeling of changing inside
And the strangest vibrations in my mind
Wasn't it a little strange?