As pretty as a song
A song could ever be
Like Christmas on a river
Without a boat or Christmas tree
This afternoon with you was something like a letter
The kind that someone writes but never sends
And when you look at me like that
I know someday it's gonna end
And when you get old
I bet you miss your friends

As angry as a breeze
Tugging hard upon the sails
I been moving through these streets forever
From Baltimore to Amsterdam
These things inside me they repeat like broken records
Spinning pretty somethings behind my eyes
And when I can´t look at you
I can paint you picture perfectly in my mind
And when I get old
I´m gonna miss you all the time

That wind up in the trees
scattering bluebirds all over the place
shuffeling children in the piles of leaves
I wish I was the wind that touched your face
This afternoon with you was something like a letter
The kind that someone writes but never sends
And when you´re good to me
It makes me blue because some day it´s gonna end
And when we pass on
I bet you miss your friends
I bet you miss your friends
I bet you miss your friends

Writer : RYAN ADAMS
Copyright : Lyrics © BUG MUSIC