One was the benches

Two was more calling

Three was the space keeping me up til morning

Four were the mushrooms taking over my garden

She said

I don't want to know more if i can't have you

Promised five will be flowers they're the image of beauty

I may be jaded but experience serves me

I was burning inside, I was ripe with expression

Born the fruit of nature, the pit of creation

Time has her way

Of pulling you through

The phases of the seasons

Without a solid reason to stay and see it through

Somehow this feeling reminds me of painting

Itching to work on an image of something

But the colour I need is the only one missing

I can go downtown and get it tomorrow

Then i remember on sunday's the store's always closed

And by the time Monday rolls around i know

I'll be walking back home with the paint in my hand

And the feeling gone

Time has her way of pulling you through

The phases of the seasons

Without a solid reason to stay and see it through

Time has her way of pulling you through

The phases of the seasons

Without a solid reason to stay and see it through