Someone left their love in a lemon tree
That turned as bright as warning;
It was so warming and dissolved free.
Fading pictures for ghosts on telephones poles,
Pinned up with rusty stables and old ambitions.
Every tassel was torn off, but still no response.
You tell yourself to call your older echoes when you can,
Before that creaking sound is too foreign,
Before the door won't fit your hand anymore.
It seems to me like those locks still fit in place,
So I wouldn’t quit it unless you’re ready to quit it
It won’t matter who did it if you’ve always hid it.