She's got a baby in the oven One on her shoulder, another coming Yellow notes strewn, decaying counters I want to meet her I want to meet her The leaves are folded like green picked parchment It's hard to hide it, it's clear the intent The swan-song, letter-like volunteer t-shirt Is too long to fit me Too long to fit me Don't think that I won't, don't think that I won't Don't think that I won't, don't think that I won't Don't think that I won't, don't think that I won't Leave The rain stains they are temporary With heat they will start evaporating Dispersed into the atmosphere A storm is brewing A storm is brewing Don't want to live where trees turn brown They should grow bigger and never have to fall down I'll move to the pouring gray And never have to set up this guitar again Don't think that I won't, don't think that I won't Don't think that I won't, don't think that I won't Don't think that I won't, don't think that I won't Leave