Record Collector
I'm tired of saying
That I won't get lost
Ever again
Who knows, maybe I will
And everywhere I go
There I'll be with a rusty old rake
In a pile of leaves
Oh my, truly daunting
But my blue eyes cannot see
That their real hue is probably green
I should keep records of these things
And I'll know what yesterdays bring
And I'm not really sure
But I'm starting to think
That I've been here before
Who knows, maybe I have
And everywhere I went
There I was with a choir of bees
They were all abuzz
Oh my, how amusing
But my blue eyes cannot see
That their real hue is probably green
I should keep records of these things
And I'll know what yesterdays bring
But one time, there was this one time
When I swore god, she spoke to me
And she told me, oh yes, she told me
Of all the wonders that she could bring
And I said, won't you
Won't you fill me up with it?
Why don't you fill me up with it?
Won't you fill me?
Won't you
Won't you fill me up with it?
Why don't you fill me up with it？
Why don't you fill me up?
Won't you
Won't you fill me up with it?
Why don't you fill me up with it?
Why don't you fill me up?
But my blue eyes cannot see
That their real hue is probably green
I will keep records of these things
And I'll know what yesterdays bring
I am always here with me
And I'll know what yesterdays bring