When you look at me From your own century I may seem to be Strange archeology But when the winds blow From this direction You may sense that Im In your reflection I think I feel you But I will never know As the swallows leave And the children grow When I caught you there In tomorrows mirror I thought I felt you Jump out of my skin Throwing oil into My blazing memories Filling empty footsteps I was standing in As the falling rain Of the northern jungle Hanging droplets on the leaves Bombards my brain I hear you Across the room A sea of daffodils spring into bloom You are the mist The frost across my window pane And again As I think of you From this dark century I will always be With generosity That we both may share The hope in hearing That were not just Spirits disappearing from Anathema Hope youtu.be/WxoEAibdbMs
Posted on: Sun, 01 Dec 2013 15:24:07 +0000