I didn't tell you where I'd go
Some summary of summers that I barely know
Simmer over and flood the stove
I wrote myself out of my strong will
And left my spitfire in the cold
Laughed to myself 'til it was a joke
The spokes of my mind still spinning
Like the back tire of the bike left in the road
Streetlights try to capture sunshine
In their synthetic glow
When I have mosquito bites I wish for snow
And when it snows I want to leave home
And every itch threatens to tear a hole
One day I'll scratch so deep I'll hit my soul