Hard to believe, the summer’s gonenThe fall will fade and it won’t be long til the ides of MarchnWe don’t fight, but something’s wrongnThe city’s alright but it’s just not home for a lovely country girlnShe’s leavingnnThe hours in the evening without you seem like yearsnThe apple’s gone sour without you aroundnWhy don’t you come back, dear?nnShe said come to the country, it’s oh so greennThe fresh air strips you conscience cleannAnd there is no scene, just scenery (and you and me)nThe fields will flood, bring your boots in casenThe streets are mud, but they’re always safenEven after dark, even in the ides of MarchnnThe cows look funny, but I hardly ever laugh without you herenThe apples are actually quite sweetnBut not like you, dearnnWindow seat on a morning flightnI’d like to meet you there tonightnGot a table in a field for twonAnd a ring for you