Grace,
it's that time of year again.
Nearly September.
September is when everything gets better,
do you remember?
When the trees change,
and the wind cools down
the clocks wind back
but they don't take you with them.
There's always a chance
every September
with the smell of freshly sharpened pencils
we can write our way from this prison cell
by the time the amber lights lead you home
and on your lips is sweet apple, salted caramel
the taste of autumn is ripe with promise
things always change for us
so I'll keep you near
it's time for a change,
now it's our time of year.
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