We made our way through the sunflower field
I watched you collect all the seeds you peeled
Their shells like a light in my hands I sealed
So I'd never unsee what we are
As you moved along down the dainty path
I stayed behind, found a wooden lath
Its walls became host to the brooding wrath
That had forced you to wander afar
See, somewhere amid our excursion here
Came a moment that dimmed what had been made clear
We polluted ourselves with the atmosphere
Of the mimic that hid in the air
But even if odds are stacked to the sky
And we find ourselves in a cloud just as high
I have held on to the specks of our shine
You'd entrusted inside of my care
I'll wait, you will see what we are
In Russia, the color yellow is associated with every kind of goodbye; a temporary absence, the end of a relationship and even a death.