|
How this feels like a floating |
|
For the physical form you crave |
|
And the gentle reminders |
|
Hovering still the same |
|
For the curative portion |
|
The dysthymic of bold and blue |
|
You are softened and hollow |
|
Reflecting this winter hue |
|
Wounded head |
|
You will be fine |
|
Your weary legs |
|
Will hold you in time |
|
So you open the window |
|
Wipe the gray from your salted eyes |
|
Feel the string that once broken |
|
Mended and slowly tied |
|
Hope for remedies comfort |
|
For the listless and looming moon |
|
And the ghost of your father |
|
Follow you home no more |
|
Let water run through |
|
Won't you open your eyes? |
|
Let water run through |
|
Wounded head |
|
You will be fine |
|
Your weary legs |
|
Will hold you in time |
|
Wounded head |
|
You will be fine |
|
Your weary legs |
|
Will hold you in time |
