Saarangutan - Hair lyrics

Part 1: “What do you like about me?” “I like your hair” “That's it? I mean, it's just hair” “Well, yeah…” But I like the way it looks, How it frames your face, The thin border that captures all I care about, The way it gently slips over your shoulders, A newly formed stream winding through crevices in the land, Flowing without sight of where it could be heading. I like how your hair becomes one with the rain— Drops stream down through it, Connecting clouds to ground, And heavens to hearts, How your hair spars with the wind, Strands twisting and tying like armies unifying, Tussling against even the lightest breezes, Either revealing your face or hiding it completely Only to do the opposite seconds later. Not unlike you. I know autumn loves your hair almost as much as I do, The leaf piles we jump into told me so— Remnants of leaf patterns lost between tangles. Even the winter clings onto your hair with its snowflakes, And if every snowflake is unique, Imagine how many permutations of perfection it could make With a palette like your hair. Every spring, I find the first flower, Slide it in between the tough hairs near your left ear, Looking between it and you, it and you And saying that I have two blossoming flowers in my life. The best thing is how your hair tracks memories, Borrowed hoodies and slept-on pillows With leftover hairs curled up like you do, On those hoodies and pillows. Your hair is a trail for where you've been, And if I lose you, I'll follow it to find you, Knowing that pushing it aside Reveals the frame that makes the perfect picture. But, yeah, I guess it's just hair. Part 2: I like to play with your hair— You're sensitive about it Saying not now, I'm tired, But it feels like I'm wasting time when I'm not, “Close your eyes.” And I weave the strands in and out, In and out, twisting and turning Like tangles are a toy to build out of the fibers that remain. I raked the leaves into a pile. I brought some inside, glued them to a hair band, And gifted it to you after the first week. Some snowflakes might just reach your scalp now, Your eyebrows are getting thinner, But your eyes still shine as your skin fades dimmer. It's still the perfect frame, Accentuating new features, Revealing more of your beautiful body, Each hair lost is a page turned, A detail the author hid until now Making us more invested in the plot. Sometimes I just want to know how the next scene will turn out But I'm learning to appreciate each chapter, Or should I say, stage. I hold what's left of your split ends, And grip your hand so tight during therapy. On a good day, we shop for new hair, But every wig you try on reminds you of what used to be there. I like how your hair still tracks your memories, The bunches of strands I find are speed limits on the road to recovery, The doses multiply without pumping the brakes. All of a sudden, we're 40 miles per hour over but using cruise control. I like how your hair still tracks your memories— Even though you aren't making any new ones. You left all of you behind here, for us to find and hold onto And twist and turn and tangle into a frame for our memories of you— But, yeah, I guess it's just hair.