Pat Flynn has a way with words.

[programthetoy]

October leaves on massachusetts' trees.

A sight so fleetingly free.

Just how october leaves,
Just how october leaves,
Just how october leaves me.

On fire with the maple trees.
On my knees with these leaves on these boston streets,
praying to a god a godforsaken summer night stole.
One night, one fight, one family swallowed whole.

Some things just fall apart.
Some families stand like november trees: barren and stark.
Some things just fall apart.
Some memories continue breaking this cold heart.

And some sons have a hard time
looking at things the same,
looking in their father's eyes
when both their heads hang in shame.

Highways home become oceans
that I just can't swim,
and the rusty gates of Eden lock
to never let me in.

Let me in.

Oceans of emotions we've got to swim.

Well I open my eyes.
I can't see that family,
I can't see that home.

So i'll just keep them closed.

Outside the door with these open arms,
with the warmth of the maple tree.

If these trees can't replaces these scars,
then let their leaves just bury me.

Let their leaves just bury me.