• There's a look to the ground,
    Brown fields plowed under,
    As tall green grass waves
    In the ever-changing breeze.
    The sky is heavy,
    And train's whistle rolls
    Like thunder across the clouds.
    City buses rattle
    Down bumpy gravel roads,
    Out of place
    Among fields of golden grain.
    The children sigh,
    For the lost days of summer;
    Say goodbye,
    To the days we see the sun.
    Green and brown,
    Gold and red,
    Rush by the windows,
    As we rush by the colors,
    The lonely days of freedom.
    For it's to pencils and paper,
    The months of darkness,
    When again comes sun?
    Gravel roads turn to stone,
    And stone turns to pavement,
    As fields turn to houses,
    Tightly packed.
    Say good morning.
    And say goodbye.