It's the way Petrucci's guitar paints
Itself with one long stroke onto
LaBrie's voice at the
Beginning of the solo,
And the way we both look
Up at each other with eyes that
Know more about Dream Theater
Than most, smiling in new born
Infatuation and goosebumps
Shared, that I know that I'm in
The kind of sweet, sweet trouble
That sneaks in through your
Guard without you noticing; the
Path-to-heart that has been cleared
By little things upon little things;
How a good producer uses
Barely audible elements to lift a
Song into grace and perfection.
Lunch pack made with fresh love,
Something like soft electricity
Between our skins; relaxed islands
In a carefree ocean. Music, music,
Music. She shreds the fastest air
Guitar this side of the coast, and
I just want to stay. Dig. Hang. Hold. I
Have nothing I want to escape to,
And with the song that will be ours
As long as she's mine, and remind
Me of us forever after, I find peace
In restlessness on the floor of her
Apartment, as if it's her singing
*This distance in my voice
Isn’t leaving you a choice,
So if you’re looking for a time to
Run away... you won’t find it here,
Look another way.
You won’t find it here.
So try another day.