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Michael Peter Smith
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Cherry blossoms lose their bloom in the autumn
You lost your cool in the fall
You stumbled and you fell right down to the bottom
Nobody cared at all
But for me
You would have stood there with egg on your face
The bitter taste of old champagne
Up to your neck in rain

All the leaves are painted brown in November
You painted the town in July
Then you went and got yourself shot down in December
And forgot how to fly
But for me
You would still be in that mad little whirl
Like sad little girls I know
Up to their minds in snow

Here's a prescription for convalescent hippies
You oughta know
Get some Japanese beer and I call sipsies
Ah so
Ret yourself go

Hitch a ride on a jet and get hip to London
I know that you'll have a ball
Then you can take a go-cart to Paris
And get some sun in
Thumb your nez at DeGaulle
When you get out of jail
Fly to Miami
I'll be in the Grove
Diggin the planes up above
Up to my heart in love



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