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 make it
  And I could never see
  And I could never break out
  And shake it's grip on me