The cigarette case was silver and worn
The clasp went soft, it didn't work no more
Well the lid was bent;
The smoke was spent
Come back again -
I'm gone
These are the things of a painted past
Details prevail
When the paint don't last
A soft summer breeze headed in the eaves
Of an old pine house down on Ashland Street
Where the crickets speak
And wicker creaks
Come back again -
I'm gone
These are the things of a painted past
Details prevail
When the paint don't last
And the paint don't last
Mary Kate was straight about one thing:
The lines of our time can be simple and certain
Mary Kate was straight about one thing:
Grasp for the past when the future's uncertain
Come back again -
I'm gone
