How sweet to be loved by you You are warm weather in February You are the reflection of a mountain in a reservoir mais mon humeur est noire
We were in a large room lit by one lamp in the far corner when words poured from my jaw of glass, I guess I could have asked but it seems no one knows the cadence and way words can flow into our hearts and puncture the soul
How sweet it was, to think I could be loved by you You are figurine of my fears A January wedding in three years A shadow mapping an escape plan Yet I lace my fingers in your hand
You don't belong with me but when the delicate words trembled from your lips and your voice stopped with my stare Both your hands in my hair I wish I knew how to tell you, but I couldn't remember why you had to be someone to just pass the time.