الكلمات الأصلية
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Can't stop thinking 'bout it
It fills me with unease
Out there by the roadside, something's buried
Under sycamore leaves
Wet grounds, late september
The foliage of the trees
I came upon this feeling that someone’s lying
Covered by sycamore leaves
And I could never make it
And I could never see
And I could never break out
And shake its grip on me
Sycamore leaves
And I could never make it
And I could never see
And I could never break out
And shake its grip on me
Can't stop thinking 'bout it
It fills me with unease
Out there by the roadside, something's buried
Under sycamore leaves
Covered by sycamore leaves
Sycamore leaves
I'm coming for you
Sycamore leaves
