Oh, but I never kissed you, my little girl blue;
just spent my nights drawin' and thinkin' 'bout you.
Then, after high school, I had to leave town
to sing for the swallows and sleep on the ground.

I remember you well, at your lemonade stand,
how the cool water dripped on your little, pink hands;
and how no one was buyin', but me and your mom,
so you drank it yourself, 'til the streetlights came on.

Then, several years later, when the streetlights came on,
how we crept to the creek with a ball jar of rum
and a fistful of squares that you stole from your mom
and they curled up in rings on the tip of your tongue.

Oh, but I never kissed you, my little girl blue;
just spent my nights drawin' and thinkin' 'bout you.
Then, after high school, I had to leave town
to sing for the swallows and sleep on the ground.

I guess I'll never know, if you think of me still,
how we used to sneak out and get high on the hill;
and how I tried to teach you the words to my song,
just to watch the notes dance on the tip of your tongue.

I suppose you've grown older and hardened your hands.
You've forgotten my songs and your lemonade stand.
I imagine you're married, with kids of your own,
whose lemonade tastes like the day I left home.

Oh, but I never kissed you, my little girl blue;
just spent my nights drawin' and thinkin' 'bout you.
Then, after high school, I had to leave town
to sing for the swallows and sleep on the ground.