We are slow dancers Into the dark wild night. The sparkle that ignites Our hearts seldom whispers, And that is why the dawn Of every promising morning, Is our happy ending.
As nightfall cries, On any new day, A calm river dries. Too safe to say: You're a butterfly roaming the skies, And I am the sky, Growing too shy: A flower that cries.
I adore the dancing leaves of early August; They make a heartbreak and a year softer. When my eyes close, the sun's a little like May, And even as nights breeze, A window and a memory, And a song too whisper: Love me like you did Last summer.
I want to bloom over a night of spring rain, to flower, to cower as the wind in the sky blows. I want to bed below the rugged terrain, where silence is a river, and a little lonely love, a soft pillow of pain.
But there seem to be skies at the end of a tunnel, and there are rivers flowing at the edge of a war. When the earth folds, mountains are born, and when a storm surges, the lonely will relate.
I am last summer, Home and lost Between sunny Skies and laughter. I am last summer, Blinded by the rain And umbrella-saved. I am last summer, Made lonely by nights, Rescued by music.
Maybe, maybe I am Not the only one. Maybe we all Yearn to be roses: To kiss the rain, And to KNOW what Seasons to bloom; To be happy in all The right, rosy ways.
