|
Running down a central reservation in last night's red dress, |
|
And I can still smell you on my fingers and taste you on my breath; |
|
Stepping through brilliant shades, |
|
All the color you bring, |
|
This time, this time, this time, |
|
Is whatever |
|
I want it to mean. |
|
If this is where memories are made, |
|
I'm gonna like what |
|
I see, And everything that |
|
I ever took for granted, |
|
I'm gonna let it be. |
|
I step through every shade, |
|
All the color you bring, |
|
This time, this time, this time, |
|
Is whatever |
|
I want it to mean. |
|
And everything and nothing is as sacred as we'd want it to be, |
|
When it's really all, |
|
Make it really all, |
|
Compared to what. |
|
It's like living in the middle of the ocean, |
|
With no future, no past, |
|
And everything that's good about now, |
|
Well, might just glide right past. |
|
I'm stepping through brilliant shades, |
|
All the color you bring, |
|
This time, this time, this time, |
|
Is fine just as it is. |
|
And everything is sacred here, |
|
And nothing is as sacred as |
|
I want it to be, |
|
When it's really all compared to what. |
