Green leaves are turning, and the wind's picking up Autumn reminds me of old fashioned stuff Out of the window, are-a green gazing eyes Green leaves are turning, and the wind's picking up Autumn reminds me of old fashioned stuff Out of the window, are-a green gazing eyes Staring at me while I wear my disguise That's Mr Foreman, he lives alone He peers through his window, the rest is unknown I spoke with the neighbours, they tell me he's ill His doorstep is filled, with dead daffodils Black morning flowers, they thought he had died A common conception, when hiding inside Never a letter, or knock at the door Hard to believe what the flowers lay for That's Mr Foreman, he lives alone His wife was a painter, a long time ago I spoke with his neighbours, they tell me he's ill His doorstep is filled, with dead daffodils Green leaves are turning, and the wind's picking up Autumn reminds me of old fashioned stuff Out of the window, are-a green gazing eyes Staring at me while I wear my disguise That's Mr Foreman, he lives alone He needed a coffin, he hand-made his own I spoke with his neighbours, they tell me he's ill His doorstep is filled, with dead daffodils