Tired of this fair-weather bullshit (Mother Nature's too ambivalent),
So guess It's time to mosey and just maybe take a hike south,
Or west, or southwest, wherever things can stay sunny for a while longer.
It seems at every season's end, things get a bit colder. It's time
For things to dry up and get stale. This autumn's fruit has gone from sweet
To sour without warning---not even a solitary fly to note decomposition.

I don't mind the time, but you seem to be counting the seconds.
I punched the clock and broke its nose long ago, and now its hands are broken,
Not knowing it's too late for everything. So it's time for someone to trek
towards the sunset, knowing it's just going to rise again. I don't mind
The chill, I was bred for this weather. If I feel so inclined, I'll take the road
To find a better climate, but like I said, I don't mind, so I'm gonna stick around.

Take your idyllic fantasy of transience, traversing borders, giving up any home
That'll have you, and move on to find some warmth, space heaters just don't cut it.
And when you're finally out of gas, stick out your thumb and flash a smile,
I'm sure someone will give you the time of day and maybe a short ride
Down the road to nowhere. Hands always fold before my chips are on the table,
So I'm cashing out (or is it in?) without a chance for any bluff to be called.