You’re playing with my hair the way your fingers play with keys nBut you’re not playing the piano cause I know the way a piano should sound. nJust like late September only deeper maybe just a bitnnDamn the Saint New OrleansnBut I’m getting over it.nGetting over itnnPardon me for asking but are you sick of me yetnCause I’ve been dragging my poor face around and feeling like a dog that ain’t been fixed for weeks or days time means nothing to the deadnnDamn the Saint New OrleansnBut I’m getting over it nGetting over itnnOhhhh well it’s nice and all nIt’s better in the fall when you don’t ask for much nOh I must be dreaming cause there is no other life nBut the one I’m leaving nAnd given what I think I know I really oughta stay nCause there is nowhere in the world I would rather be todaynAnd every time you plant a seednIt get’s plucked from the groundnnDamn the Saint New OrleansnBut Some Shitty little townnSome shitty little townnDamn the Saint New OrleansnBut I’m getting over it nGetting over it