I’m Not My Season

Blood of my blood Skin of my skin You’re in roundelay water again I want to face the condition you’re in The old wrenches hardly turn me Can you catch a thrown line Tied around neat Circle once about, please allow me I see the pall coming off of our cheeks We’re weak but a leaf is turning And I move lightly in the dawn Try to, lightly ever on the lee Though I liked summer light on you If we ride a winter-long wind Well time’s not what I belong to And I’m not the season I’m in Holding on close Holding on to Any kind of ring I can bring you And at the beachwood pyre good news It’s wet but it’s catching easy And I move slightly in the dawn Try to, gently ever on the lee Though I liked summer light on you If we ride a winter-long wind Well time’s not what I belong to And you’re not the season you’re in