Late spring

Lifted on my way home
Rode my bike in the rain
Wrote you're name on my arm
Crooked like you like it
Been sleeping more and more these days
I think I missed your call again
An echo that I always hear
An echo that I always hear

Am I wasting my whole life for something ill never know
Writing all the words again but I'm standing in the dark

Late spring growing from the mud I think ill say good