i can hear your mom’s windchimes
travel on the august wind
the breeze makes me feel stinging
on bare knees freshly skinned
i sit in poison ivy
you lay in poison oak
i tell you something serious
you take it as a joke
the clouds are making silly shapes
and i see them casting shadows on your face
but the planes are always drawing lines right through the middle
slicing open clouds and letting out the rain
the southern sun casts on your face
through the old sycamore
soon it’ll be a little stump
each day there’s more and more
we’ll have to take the bridge across
the creek is really high
i wanna say i love you
but you don’t have to reply
the clouds are making silly shapes
and i see them casting shadows on your face
but the planes are always drawing lines right through the middle
slicing open clouds and letting out the rain
slicing open clouds and letting out the rain