Summer

The library’s air conditioned, makes it hard for me to make decisions,
About what to read now that my day’s completely free.
So I venture to the basement, it’s a microfiche vacation,
I love to read but not when no one is there to share it with me.

Why don’t we talk anymore?
I always have an open door.

Miss breakfast with Turkish tea, I miss the salads that you’d make with me.
And I miss the summer and everything.

Summer was short, short skirts and drinking wine on the porch.
Our roofs were black and hot, our legs would dangle off.
We’d bike down to the lake, we’d never stay up too late so we could catch every minute of sun.

But all my friends think I’m boring ‘cause I care too much about the morning.
Not smoking in bedrooms at night, I’m not watching your beer can fights.
I’m not the kind of friend you’d like.

But summers from years ago are different from summers I know,
Looking at the sky from behind a window.
And I can’t read in bed, I gotta get up and go to work instead.
When I get out, the whole day’s already dead.

And I just want to go camping on the Rio Grande or something.
Sing by the fire at night, I’d go to sleep when I was tired and go to bed when the sun told me it’s right.