Past my cloudy conclusions.
The street pulses footsteps,
Yours yet to arrive.
I am trembling hopeful,
You are achingly beautiful,
I'm twisting on beams of the sun,
You don't believe, but It's your sun.
I recognise those weary outlines,
Those sketches of old storylines,
In a morbid dance with suspicion,
Fearing with such devotion.
I'm grasping for words to explain,
The depths of my past refrain,
All those tangles in my heart,
the truths thought tore apart.
For I long to know everything,
Be given a part without a script,
To speak from the very depths,
For the end comes too soon...