Song Search

Season To Leave

by The Guthries

on Off Windmill (2000)

Tell your tales, set yours sails, you're on your way
Riding rails past hay bale, never fails.
And the sun fell down behind the prairie town, and you're not around.

Days are getting longer
The season's almost here
It's the season to leave
but there's no time to grieve.

The surf is high and so am I, but where are you?
Planets, stars, and moons. Aprils, Mays and Junes.

Days are getting longer
The season's almost here
It's the season to leave
but there's no time to grieve.

Days are getting longer
The season's almost here
It's the season to leave
but there's no time to grieve.

Days are getting longer
The season's almost here
It's the season to leave
but there's no time to grieve.

What I need, I won't get.
What I hate, I'll forget.

What I need, I won't get.
What I hate, I'll forget.

What I need, I won't get.
What I hate, I'll forget.

What I need, I won't get.
What I hate, I'll forget.

What I need, I won't get.
What I hate, I'll forget.

What I need, I won't get.
What I hate, I'll forget.