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Rain trippin down my brittle dry hair
Gazing at the water pooling on the concrete
The steeple makes shadows, dancing with the streetlights
Listening to him sing in a language I don't understand
Much like my own
Much like my own
Much like my own
Much like my own
Spent the whole year staring at the ring on your finger
Looking for summer in the slight of a glance
I'll take you round to the side of the bar
and show you there is no summer here
No summer here
No summer here
No summer here
No summer here
I wake up counting how many times the bell tolls
Sometimes it keeps going, I've lost track of the bells
Summer is over now, it rains on the concrete
but the whiskey has seemed to have settled in the greyscale
No summer here
No summer here
No summer here
No summer here