41

Emily, remind me not to come back to this
Remind me not to forget to turn away
Tie a millstone around this
And throw it into the ocean
Throw it away for good
I'll fret over this
And at night, it'll grip my soul
I'll run from this
1000 miles straight back to Kansas
Where that tree waits for me
I'll hold onto it's branches
And become a leaf far away on the streets
The farmer will sow his seeds
And I'll fall on this bed of thorns
It's time to pack up, Emily.
It's time to go.