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I'm perfectly fine, sitting here, alone, in a tree. No one here to talk to. No sun to shine in my face and the breeze cold and nipping.
Jack Frost is coming, but no Roudolf or Santa to save the day. Always winter, never Christmas.
Singing songs that have almost died with the sixties. Hippie days are over and the music is all that is left to make your skin crawl and your eyes hallucinate.
I'm perfectly fine, sitting here, alone, in a tree. No one here to talk to. No sun to shine in my face and the breeze cold and nipping.
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