Carolina. Her tears are falling like the spanish moss. Disappearing. Into beauty found in beauty lost. So it goes. The summer blooms and fades away. Like moonlight falling on a bed. And there can be no solice in remembering. The words we never said. Faded postcards. Of all the places she loves best. Take her far away. As she presses wrinkles from her cotton dress. So it goes. The summer blooms and fades away. Like moonlight falling on a bed. And there can be no solice in remembering. The words we never said. So it goes. The summer blooms and fades away. Like moonlight crashing to the earth. And there can be no solice in remembering. The way things never were.