The Fall decays,
While the loss I feel it still remains,
Days crash down like hammers on my face.
This view won't change,
the season of dying while winter awaits,
a tombstone hangs from each hair on my face,
I grasp for anything,
just to stay.
I just can't wait,
Each hour seems like another day,
Good feelings fade fast as though they are erased.
You are late,
I cannot help but think of what is keeping you away,
the leaves just die as chlorophyll gives way.
The only thing left in me,
Is the breath I take.
The rose bird sways,
The wind blows so fast its pedals break away,
and freeze to ice like every word I say.
When all I know,
Is your voice is so beautiful on this telephone,
I am sure you hear clear my desperate tone,
That if you were here,
I couldn't let you go.
The only sound, is the calling of the cold cold ground.
The only sound, is the calling of the cold cold ground.