(Pal Waaktaar)
Can't stop thinking 'bout it
It fills me with unease
Out there by the roadside something's buried
Under sycamore leaves
Wet grounds, late September
The foliage of the trees
I came upon this feeling that someone's lying
Covered by sycamore leaves
And I could never face it
And take a look and see
And I could never break out
And shake it's grip on me