Gray, rounded stones cover these streets
And scold our feet with every print we leave

White picket fences fade to black and
Relentlessly hold the memories that we lack

Tall, pepper trees send our minds to be free
And mold seats for the summer heat.

Short-tempered children shoot their guns
At the Indians and quit games they've just begun

Keen to my surroundings, I gather my own findings
And write them all in this book
Seen only, you doubt me, I'd rather find pictures
Without me that I took of you

Days when the main event is rest
We try our best to make the most of it, most days

With nights as cold as ice
A blanket should suffice
And maybe a movie or two

And all I can think of are the past summers' peaceful times
And all I can write down are things that remind me of this town
And all I can say is I miss the old days
And all I can want is you by my side

I know what it feels like to be alone
During summer months, I stayed at home

All that I owned was a picture book to call a friend
I love how you said, "I'm here 'til the end."

Lyrics submitted by BleedorBreathe

Picturebook song meanings
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