I want the warmth to return.
I want my bones to stop in this shaking.
I need proof that there will be another coming of the sun, through the ice cloaked clouds.
Turn it back to the blue that's so easily forgotten under grey skies.
The singing may return to my lips, in the mourning of lost mornings.
Beside the sunlight, not to be touched by the strands of her hair, the golden glow of summer threatens me again with memories maybe I create.
Did it all become something that it is not?
Lost swimming in my mind.
Will the animals come back to me, or will the shadows of winter last another whole year?
I want my bones to stop in this shaking.
I need proof that there will be another coming of the sun, through the ice cloaked clouds.
Turn it back to the blue that's so easily forgotten under grey skies.
The singing may return to my lips, in the mourning of lost mornings.
Beside the sunlight, not to be touched by the strands of her hair, the golden glow of summer threatens me again with memories maybe I create.
Did it all become something that it is not?
Lost swimming in my mind.
Will the animals come back to me, or will the shadows of winter last another whole year?