It was late July
And there stood every Grace
Sun spots and vinegar
And a cigarette in tow.
She thought she was cool
– Dusty cowboy boots –
Humming out my sweetest tune
She smile and blew a kiss,
So I leaned to see
But missing me was the point
I left a mark on her guitar.
She had eyes that looked afar
There I, off in July
And there stood every Grace
Sun-dried windowsills
My heart torn
By the very sun
And I run so I run
And I cry so I cry
In late July I wondered why
To the sea that swallowed me