My October Always Burning
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Video Transcript
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Fog curls low on the gravel road A scarf caught in the hawthorn,
frayed and old I pick it up, still holds her trace
Like cinnamon and morning grace The maples blush, the air grows thin
And suddenly I'm back again She turns streetlights into lanterns Makes cold coffee
taste like wine My quiet storm, my steady compass In this fading autumn light
She turns silence into singing Warms the frost with just her name
My October always burning Even when she's not the same We
walked here once beneath this sky She named each cloud as they passed by
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