Living on the porch maybe take a spin on down to a lake that’s full of ships for graves. I think we could love this town if no one’s ever around. Then we’ll ride home from the storms that bring summer’s deadly sound. Paint a picture on the table, they know I know you’ve found. In your back yard on the stones behind you house we’ll sit and wonder. In your back yard on the stones behind your house we’ll smoke another. You’re probably dead, listen anyways and now I’m gone but you’re probably dead listen anyways. Do you ever wish you were late? Everyone’s around.
