White Paint Morning

Sixty-eight at twenty-one
The girl has risen with the sun
It's a white paint morning now that the fog is gone

It's a bright, dumbfounded dawn
She lays down out on the lawn
And the new day wakes and turns to confront the clock

And down, the little town
All squared away
Don't it make you want to cry all day?
And gone, washed by the wind
Crushed by the clouds
It's where the land end and the day begins