Fix my wasted days, weeks, and months
Fix our rotten peaches and our decadent dreams
Fix the pouring rain; never let drown our parade
Fix the rough back of our forgotten guitar; we played all summer 'til our resonant notes swelled into monotony
Fix the stoic stare in your eyes, our exchanges lively no more
Fix the doors from their shuts and slams; never again let the knob slip from your fingers
Never again, will it though.