Record Collector

I'm tired of saying That I won't get lost Ever again Who knows? maybe I will And everywhere I go There I'll be with a rusty old rake In a pile of leaves Oh my, truly daunting But my blue eyes cannot see That their real hue is probably green I should keep records of these things And I'll know what yesterday bring And I'm not really sure But I'm starting to think That I've been here before Who knows? maybe I have And everywhere I went There I was with a choir of bees They were all abuzz Oh my, how amusing But my blue eyes cannot see That their real hue is probably green I should keep records of these things And I'll know what yesterday bring But one time, there was this one time When I swore, god, she spoke to me And she told me, oh yes, she told me Of all the wonders that she could bring And I said, won't you? Won't you fill me up with it? Why don't you fill me up with it? Won't you fill me? Won't you? Won't you fill me up with it? Why don't you fill me up with it? Why don't you fill me? Won't you? Won't you fill me up with it? Why don't you fill me up with it? Why don't you fill me up? But my blue eyes cannot see That their real hue is probably green I will keep records of these things And I'll know what yesterday bring I am always here with me And I'll know what yesterday bring