A river ran along my cheek.
Past lips that tremble but dare not speak...

When the leaves change
And the air grows cold...

The fox looked up toward the moon
And thought "I could jump that high...

Drain your words of their nectar
And fill up my cup once more...

If I disappear with the morning,
Will your bitterness follow my wake...

Weave your words around me,
They feel so good pressed against my skin...