Can't you see the breaking dawn is ever gentle,
ever hard to count on, when you're waiting.
Simple as the day is long, the shadows lengthen,
everyone's a pattern in the evening.
The banner of our day unfurls, and in the light,
it's lost its pearly shimmer.
I break your spell in morning light, and something tells me
it'd be right to tell you it means nothing to me.
You say
You tell me,
I am moving much to fast.
You see my clouds go by in a glance.
You say that memory has no place for one so fast, love.
If words are caught in paint, and ecstasy in slowness waits,
you'll find your magic once again.
Your depths may go unwarmed, but through no fault of my sun,
you're like a canyon in your winter.
If your gaurd should fall like leaves, then unprotected, "summer breeze,"
you'll say, "is pleasant."
With birds, and births, and pagan rites, a rhythm strong than your heart's
is beating, and you'll feel it
in the spring.
You say
You tell me,
I am moving much to fast.
You see my clouds go by in a glance.
You say that memory has no place for one so fast, love.
There is a theory that time will turn back on itself.
It's shown in graphs and lines,
something about the speed of light.
and I won't live that long, maybe no one will,
but I think it's only right.