Winter months grow dim awe struck he died inside.
Dreams washed away things come to quick and then a baby cries.
So don't believe me.
I've got nothing good to say again.
So don't believe me.
Turn your back and dreams are washed away.
Summer days are hot like hell.
At least that's the way he feels.
Sometimes you win sometimes you lose.
But in the end it's all on you.
So don't believe me.
I've got nothing good to say again.
So don't believe me.
Turn your back and walk away my friend.