i was in a valley called despair,
feeling more alone than i can say
you, you wouldn't have found me there
you were hardly looking anyway
now the setting sun sinks low
and we head out, solitary
oh, but if i had a thousand wildflowers,
i'd throw them at your feet
mountains of sand will disappear
while you keep on singing here
(and who knows if she'll be around?)
what can be done with dead leaves, you ask?
we'll have to burn them all
tie our cloaks in expectancy for the fire to come this fall
with blackened feet we'll run,
our mouths full of salt
we'll reach the highest heights in june,
pitch tents and watch
wait for flame to be put out.
i miss your hands the most.
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