The smell of spruce brings back the cold September in the woods near Jackson Hole.
The boats still in the water ´Cause we could not bear to let the summer go.
You told them at the grocery not to save the Sunday papers anymore.
You were off to San Francisco.
I´d be working for a year in Ecuador.
And now I know. You can´t wade in the same river twice.
Now I know. The current flows around you, then it´s gone.
Leaves you no choice but moving on.
That river´s gone.
The windows needed painting, and some planks along the dock were rotting through.
Next year, I went back early. I worked hard to leave it looking fine for you.
I expected you on Monday. I planted you some roses and red mums,
And it was late on Friday
when I finally knew that you would never come.
And now I know. You can´t wade in the same river twice.
Now I know. The current flows around you, then it´s gone.
Leaves you no choice but moving on.
That river´s gone.
If I had said that Ecuador would have to wait another year or two,
If you´d said San Francisco could get through the winter somehow without you…
But now I know. You can´t wade in the same river twice.
Now I know. The current flows around you, then it´s gone.
Leaves you no choice but moving on.
That river´s gone.
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