Can't stop thinking 'bout it
It fills me with unease
Out there by the roadside
something's buried
Under sycamore leaves
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Wet grounds, late September...
The foliage up the trees
I came upon, this feeling that
someone's lying
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Covered by sycamore leaves
And I could never face it
And take a look and see
And I could never break out
And shake its grip on me
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