The trees gently bleed
turning wine red from their summer greens
and it won't be long now
till I look upon those barren winter scenes

and my life is written in the Fall
Can't you hear the cold wind call my name out loud?

The grassy fields turn brown
and the birds I heard all summer long head south
and it won't be long now
till I walk upon the hard and frozen ground

and my life is written in the Fall
Can't you hear the cold wind call my name out loud?