Hey there, little song!
What on earth are you doing in Michigan?
You are clearly lost, you are not supposed to be here..
You belong to the Jacaranda lined streets of Queensland..
That shine shiny black, after a tropical storm
With lavender carpets on either side, to welcome me home!
You belong to the golden beach, the hot, helpless sand
With turquoise waves dancing to all your sitar and tabla
You belong to the time when I was ten pounds lighter
And undoubtedly lost, in an extensive soul search
The time I used to match my fantasies
With the songs on my play list (What a juvenile thing to do!)
You don't go well with the pale ales here
Neither do I like your sudden appearance in my Yoga lesson
Distracting me, taking me back to the place where we first met
Not that you make be nostalgic (You wish! You little imp)
I have met new songs here (And I am still struggling with fantasies)
They are all red and pretty in fall and walk with a crunch in their step
And then, shiver happily in their mittens and snow boots
They chase paranoid squirrels to the top of trees
And they remind me of the worst kind of coffee, that I have come to like..
It would be too much of an effort, to get used to having you here
So, no hard feelings, my friend,
But I am just going to have to
Skip you!
What on earth are you doing in Michigan?
You are clearly lost, you are not supposed to be here..
You belong to the Jacaranda lined streets of Queensland..
That shine shiny black, after a tropical storm
With lavender carpets on either side, to welcome me home!
You belong to the golden beach, the hot, helpless sand
With turquoise waves dancing to all your sitar and tabla
You belong to the time when I was ten pounds lighter
And undoubtedly lost, in an extensive soul search
The time I used to match my fantasies
With the songs on my play list (What a juvenile thing to do!)
You don't go well with the pale ales here
Neither do I like your sudden appearance in my Yoga lesson
Distracting me, taking me back to the place where we first met
Not that you make be nostalgic (You wish! You little imp)
I have met new songs here (And I am still struggling with fantasies)
They are all red and pretty in fall and walk with a crunch in their step
And then, shiver happily in their mittens and snow boots
They chase paranoid squirrels to the top of trees
And they remind me of the worst kind of coffee, that I have come to like..
It would be too much of an effort, to get used to having you here
So, no hard feelings, my friend,
But I am just going to have to
Skip you!
