1, 2, 3, 4

Morning comes to a stuttering halt,
Cool breezes blow, it's somebody's fault
As summer heat tries to burn through and
I look over to warn you that something's happening.

Morning glories climb the wall, and
You speak in a slow drawl and
I'm trying to piece together what you're saying
But the birds are screeching and the hounds are baying
I don't remember there being any hounds around here

Move back and we clink our glasses,
Raise a drink to our thirsty mouths,
Thick as molassas, Ice cold vodka
eases in as the low pressure system brings the breezes in
And they chasser and piroutte above ya
The only thing that I know is that I love ya
And I'm holding on.

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