This is a true story, but more related to autumn.

Every night they come around
But I never hear or see 'em
Theyre the quiet sort of drunks,
They're deer
They quietly sneak across the street
Tip toe across the tarmac
To munch femented apples
Deer beer

And who knows what goes on
What revels they partake in
Do their passions ever make them go
Too far?
Wild and crazed, they tempt the fates,
Perhaps they hit on each other's mates
Or maybe it'll only be
Your car