Every other day, I miss the rain on my face.
And every other day, I miss the cold's embrace.
When I wake up, worm and dry.
I think back, to the snow and it's taste.
The miles are long here, and straight, theres no end.
The days are empty, with nothing to lend.
With all this happiness around me in them.
There is no one to notice this life I offend.
And I can't hang around
another burnt down town
over the crisp blue water
of the blue Puget sound.
And this life I put on hold
will never come home.
This life is nothing but
memories that live alone.
No comments:
Post a Comment