I'm Sorry I'm Leaving

I'm Sorry I'm Leaving
Your middle finger was clutching my thumb, through the park and over macdougal.
The tourches were blazing above our street, just down from the sky.
Kacie stepped with Anna of the curb.
His shoes are clogs, did you see, did you see?
They dipped in that puddle, the one catching green.
They were tripping up and slipping around, singing rosie.
And oh, oh, oh, wanted to pull you down.
Roll on top of me baby, ya. Just roll, roll, roll, oh.
We'll wreck our clothes, we'll scrape our knees we'll taste the scabs.
You, sweet, are worth these next four months, until I bail out.
Kiss behind your ears, drive off in the van.
Oh my God I think I'm dying in this car seat, where I'll spend through winter.

(Why can't you?)
I don't know if I can go.
(Why can't you?)
I don't know I'm not through with you.
(Why can't you?)
I don't know if I can go.
(Why can't you?)
I don't know I'm not through with you.