I'm tired of saying
|
That I won't get lost ever again
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Who knows, maybe I will
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And everywhere I go there I'll be
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With a rust old rake in a pile of leaves
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Oh my, truly daunting
|
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But my blue eyes cannot see
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That their real hue's probably green
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I should keep records of these things
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And I'll know what yesterdays bring
|
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I, I'm not really sure
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But I'm starting to think that I've been here before
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Who knows, maybe I have
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And everywhere I went there I was
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With a choir of bees they were all a buzz
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Oh my, how amusing!
|
|
But my blue eyes cannot see
|
That their real hue is probably green
|
I should keep records of these things
|
And I'll know what yesterdays bring
|
|
But one time, there was this one time
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When I swore God, she spoke to me
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And she told me, oh yes she told me
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Of all the wonder that she could bring
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And I said, "Won't you, won't you fill me up with it
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Why don't you fill me up with it
|
Won't you fill me
|
|
Won't you, won't you fill me up with it
|
Why don't you fill me up with it
|
Why don't you fill m
|
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Won't you, won't you fill me up with it
|
Why don't you fill me up with it
|
Why don't you fill me!
|
|
But my blue eyes cannot see
|
That their real hue is probably green
|
I will keep records of these things
|
And I'll know what yesterdays bring
|
|
I am always there with me
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And I know what yesterdays bring
|
|
-----------------
|
Record Collector
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| Lissie |
