Buffalo Springfield — The Hour of Not Quite Rain

[Verse 1] In the hour of not quite rain When the fog was fingertip high The moon hung suspended In a singular sky [Bridge] Deeply and beyond seeing Not wishing to intrude Bathed in its own reflection The water mirrored the moon [Verse 2] The tumbling birds have now sobered From the leaves of their nursery Like shadowy, quiet children Watching sleepily


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