Now the sun awakes,

but I can't see for morning fog.

Home I'll ride my brakes.

Autumn's here, I'm not.

Autumn's here, I'm not.



I stayed hours ago,

in blooming woods off 45,

by a winding road.

It's cold and I will hitchhike.

I am guilty this time.



Only not the way you'd think.

See, I've banished hearts so low.

And a vision just won't sink

of a single man,

looking for a place to go.

As I looked at him and said

you're no one that I know.



That itself is false,

but I can't see for mourning him.

Haven't slept at all.

I think I can outrun my sin.

Think I can outrun my sin.



He swallows pills and drinks.

I swallow my apology.

This no one that I know,

I didn't get that he is me.

This time I am guilty.

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