A trace of bitterness In whose cold arms, the lovers Forget to go home.
It’s like looking in on a Perfect scene from a Mile away. The colors on her skin From that sunset, Make her look sixteen again. It’s the ripped, blue jeans, The same tatty shoes, Standing at my front door, Looking up at a sky I used to know; Roaming a town I used to own.
I only ask you don’t burn this one- This bridge is needed to get home, Or at least to show me the way back… But you don’t care, Not about before. You could spend your whole life Holding on to close friends and Your holiday lovers so if anybody talks of me You can tell…
If I have to choose Between loving you and Breathing. I would use my last breath To tell you You’re mine.
I’m living? …I must be, I remember you.