I won't be around to cut your holiday trimmings downnI won't be there to hold your handnnFrom where I stand you don't appear to need itnAnd the summer end, like a ruined heir we tried to read itnDon't think we cannnA spider you can't catch, a cunning rusty latchnA weatherman acting coy, a web you can't destroynnBut I'm your boynAlthough you may not need itnAnd the summer flew, I know how hard you tried to beat itnBut we both knewnnThe light comes in much too early every daynIt wakes me up but it won't chase those dreams awaynnThe light comes in much too early every daynIt wakes me up but it won't chase those dreams away