Clean Lyric
Paragraph Lyric
When the fog comes rolling
through the avenues
something leaves my mind
gifted in November underneath
the elms in all the dying lines

The mirage and the echo
of the life we live
gently leaving me
break the fever, square the lines,
strange geometry
When the fog comes rolling   through the avenues   something leaves my mind   gifted in November underneath   the elms in all the dying lines      The mirage and the echo   of the life we live   gently leaving me   break the fever, square the lines,   strange geometry