Record Collector

I'm tired of saying
That I won't get lost
Ever again
Who knows? maybe I will

And everywhere I go
There I'll be with a rusty old rake
In a pile of leaves
Oh my, truly daunting

But my blue eyes cannot see
That their real hue is probably green
I should keep records of these things
And I'll know what yesterday bring

And I'm not really sure
But I'm starting to think
That I've been here before
Who knows? maybe I have

And everywhere I went
There I was with a choir of bees
They were all abuzz
Oh my, how amusing

But my blue eyes cannot see
That their real hue is probably green
I should keep records of these things
And I'll know what yesterday bring

But one time, there was this one time
When I swore, god, she spoke to me
And she told me, oh yes, she told me
Of all the wonders that she could bring

And I said, won't you?
Won't you fill me up with it?
Why don't you fill me up with it?
Won't you fill me?

Won't you?
Won't you fill me up with it?
Why don't you fill me up with it?
Why don't you fill me?

Won't you?
Won't you fill me up with it?
Why don't you fill me up with it?
Why don't you fill me up?

But my blue eyes cannot see
That their real hue is probably green
I will keep records of these things
And I'll know what yesterday bring

I am always here with me
And I'll know what yesterday bring