I could dance a flamenco alone but I don't, I don't.   Down the main street cicadas hiss, bowled over by the orange glow.   As the sun goes down, the perfect light to dig new holes for new bones. And in a hundred years another cracked and crooked headstone, oh no.      Why all this when all I wanted was to find a new love?   Not stroll around streets lined with houses decked for Halloween, for Halloween.      I know you're not the only one for me, but you make that awfully hard to see.   So, I stay in making scrapbooks and going stir-crazy.   Without your love I can't help that the summer house just sits there, and when a storm comes I don't bother moving in the deck chairs.      Why remind me of how things are sure to turn out for me?   When I can feel it with every gust that moves the willow trees.   Why all this when all I wanted was to find a new love?   Not stroll around streets lined with houses decked for Halloween, for Halloween.