The smell you leave behind
The tastes that linger
Faintest glimpses that remind
The soft brush of fingers
A haunted craving
A memory worth saving
Why should these things make
me love you

I wish I could live under a tree
and lead a life of apathy
No bills to pay or places to be
Just this big old tree and me
and bugs and things that live here too
No one tells us what to do
No deadlines, meetings, or dates to make
oh, would a life like that be great...

These candles are not dancing.
Well of course not, nor the flames
They're calling while you're romancing
In a language they can't explain
We can all see it but none speak it
So the messages are lost
The language of breathing fire
Casting shadows from across
They exhaust themselves with candles
When the flame gives out they speak

Then we hear the voice that was talking through the fire
I saw but could not know
Only the dying breath made waves my ears require
There was actually something in the warm glow
I could smell the words you would tell me
Every sense took in your messages but I (ignored) (mistook) (how could I have known) them as mundane

Every sun must cast a shadow
Every candle is the same.