I'm so overwhelmed. You're something witty. Have resorted to categorising music. Don't dare to put those CDs on. The green has gone, the mist's risen. Hot leaves spiral down like sycamore seeds. The wind breathes, rattling windows, and he walks where I don't go, and sees a girl he loves and moves a little closer. The wind breathes, rattling skin. I'm so over-whelmed, and he leaves, walks a girl, I'm categorising record players: Scary, scary, scary.