A Quarter Grows, As Does Your Love

Quarter, quarter over head
Miss me babe, or love me dead
Waiting in the garden shed
With guns, with bullets full of lead

Longing for your loving ears
As they wipe my weary tears
Clearing me of stupid fears
You listen well when no one hears

You and me, we lead the band
You hold mine, I'll hold your hand
We'll drift off to a foreign land
And sift our toes in silky sand.