the color of an afternoon just like when you were 5 years old the moon over the ocean i’ve seen from a island evening progression that starts to lose its meaning if we have spent most of a lifetime dreaming then dreaming is the state we shall keep stories of our solitude will sing themselves to sleep and we will sing to everything the stories of where we have been the history thats coursing through our veins no, nothing factual is written on a page
so surely and so steadily a slowly moving cloud will whisper “i am but for hours born to last” your sogging soaking future is my foggy fading past and so now if you want to wish upon me, wish upon me fast whatever can be held in your heart is surely yours to grasp so you wish for a picture of all of the people you have had the pleasure to know or a postcard from all of the places that you ever wanted to go saying “you are here now on this magical night” the sun and sky at sunset, well, its such a stunning sight you can sleep safely and soundly and you are loved
and nothing ever does begin like nothing ever ends ask every atom in your body and they’ll surely tell you “friend, i am old as time and older still” and you are made of everything you love, you feel, or kill i will outlive you, and forgive you, and be just a baby still
it’s amazing how in your own homes how the comfort and the pain well they just grow this is the field where i realized i loved you and they just grow this is the diner where we learned that people die before their time sometimes the impermanence of it all don’t you let it make you feel too very small
we were ourselves but blended at the edges like it should be and now separated your color now shines on my sleeve with my parents, favorite teacher, first ever pen pal and me and the more that we share i guess the more that we grow and we all became tiny rainbows.
you spent half a year on the verge of tears just because nothing ever feels like it did before so now i understand if you’re bitter frankly sometimes i do feel the same it’s amazing how in your own homes how the comfort and the pain well they just grow
I would tell you but i’m not so good with words Language makes a simple feeling seem oh so absurd Anyway, my songs about contentment so far always end in verbs Like “drive”, or “run”, or go to sleep, the damage has been done Life’s not made up of things that must be lost or won But you can live that way if that’s what you call fun