Remember when we climbed the tree And all the leaves turned into geese It's hard to believe Some people call this lucky You've lost your awkward innocence Your jacket smells like cigarettes The gra** is turning brown Like at the end of summer Like the star in that famous scene I was crying and everything I've got to admit when i've been beaten by the very best I once said that these skinny arms could handle this But i was wrong I'll stop by this week To pick up all my records