Smells Like Summer

Now it smells like summer out here in the suburbs,
like back in the day when it was me and you,
but you probably forgot about all the good times,
and crazy things we used to do,
like when you told me it would be forever,
and we laid together in the wet grass,
I wish I would've known, now more than ever,
that moment would always be our last.

And it smells like summer, like wet gravel and trees,
the air is moist like your breath on my skin,
and I guess I'd give more than I'll ever have,
to feel the way I felt again,
cause you're gone forever, to some place better,
but I'm not angry that you left me here,
because I know you didn't choose to go,
but you didn't have to disappear.

Now it smells like summer, but when it comes winter,
the scent will surely fade away,
the leaves will dry up and the green grass will fade,
under shades of white and brown and gray,
and as that fades so will my memory,
you'll be nothing more than an old photograph,
but one that's faded, your voice, outdated,
and as the summer fades, so will your laugh.

And it won't smell like summer, but more like autumn,
winter, and eventually spring,
a scent not nearly as intoxicating,
not nearly as defiant,
as the one that summer brings.