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Forecasting
Bert Jerred
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It's sixty-five degrees
The last time I asked
I was down on my knees
The last time I heard you speak
You shot ice into my veins
I almost wished it would rain
Now your forecast calls for me
Does the sun go down on the road
Between us
And the world keeps right on spinning
Day by day
I settle my claim
On this wintry way
I ask again for the strength
To believe what you say
Because your forecast calls for me
To shorten all that stands
Between us
The sky's getting low
The last time I heard you
It was ten below
Still your forecast calls for me
If only you could see
The way I see
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