Then the moon sprayed white on the lake
At the edge of night when the bugs were getting bad
And the boys all stood in a silent semicircle
Dodging smoke and tossing driftwood into the fire
And the girls were picking burrs off of their cords
When I heard the slow crack of wood
I was sifting through, through the pile of sandals
When the police lights finally oscillated through the canopy
That marked the access over the beach path
The Kubler-Ross soup course was already served
Can we share these years with regret
There was going to be a September wedding
He was waiting for
For the last book in the series that he loved,
To see the loose ends finally tied up
But all his own broke off and floated away
There was going to be a September wedding
There was going to be a September wedding
There was going to be a September wedding
Greg Kutcher - lead guitar
Lauren London - vocals
Copyright 2013 Zach London
