The Season

From the top of the hill, like a secret, too old to tell
The light came rushing in, oh it blinded, and washed across the wall
It’s a hard ride from the flatlands, all stuck up in your head
A new gold rush and all the quarries, are finally filling in
The season, feeling sleepy on the outskirts of town
Waiting for the breeze to come around
To cut a check, say farewell
I’m leaving for the other side of the storm
The grass is always green on the northside
It rained for twenty years
All the color washed away the other morning
Now they can’t hold back the tears
Oh see the light, come blinking through the fog on our left
So faded so faded so faint
To cut a check, say farewell
I’m leaving for the other side of the storm