(*Boland)
Wake and bakin' in the mornin'*
Another visine sunrise
A cup of coffee, a hippie's speed ball
Erase the road maps from my eyes
Into the sunshine and fetch the paper
Pretend it's good news for headlines
Our life's strung across the front yard
Everything that made our house a home
I was gonna cut down that tree this winter
That was back before you turned to stone
Yesterday your coat went for a quarter
God I hate sundays alone
I wish I knew what you were thinkin'
When you aimed it down that winding road
And put it to the floor
Cause now all of the little things
Don't seem so small anymore
Since everyday life became a chore
I still hear you in the hallway
I still smell you on my clothes
But I can't put away your pictures
And I can't watch your picture shows
You'd never pick me for a quitter
But you're not here to tell me so