 Why do you look back on the times? Who was wrong? Who was right? It won't matter. Never did anyhow. Like the birches, silver sleeves. There's that doggo going to leave. Season change. The past is dead. When the sun kisses the moonlight and the tree looks dark and bare, he'll be there for you but me. He'll be there for you but me. He'll be there for you but me. You'll see.