I attribute failure to a dusty excuse
Effectively dulled by excess use
Then I change the conditions
Conditioning my means for a fall

I'll register next fall.

I hope it will all register by then
The things I'm supposed to know
Everything I should have done before

Prolonging my longing
Romantic in a way
The stages of sweet decay
Like early fall
Full of promise, dirt covered by leaves

Give me a reason to fabricate
This is the season I suffocate
I rake in nothing again
A gain as foreign to me as success

I'll sleep through the winter

Next fall...
Yeah,
I'll know how to pick myself up by then.