It's changing seasons, my heart, sobriety hums a drunken note, I'm painting the promises like the color of your eyes Home sounds so much like your name, I'm drawing it like the freckles on your skin, again
I am as helpless as the waves that belong to the earth and yet rise and fall to the rhythm of the moon, so unassertive of their existence, so down in love that they never realize the melancholy of the stretch. Tell me will I last to see the dawn or submit my being, like the waves, to a love it can't call it's own?