When autumn comes around,

I’ll suffer at every sight

Of falling golden orange leaves;

The pain will nip, as the cold will bite.

I remember falling,

Falling into the gaze of your eyes—

How orange and golden they were,

Like the setting sun’s skies.

Oh how brutal it’ll be,

To see your eyes on every tree!

I will be just like a leaf,

And fall to death with autumn grief.