he lives for every future he could ever hope to have
except the one that matters, one to never hold him back
a path discretely paved for his own searching soul to find
unraveled in the questions buried somewhere in his mind
his tired feet have found another stone along the way
"tomorrow needs to come, there's nothing left of me today"
too in a rush to notice he had just to turn around
embrace the life behind him yielding patiently to sound

these fields have frozen over in a way I've never seen
and more than I want anything I want again to breathe
to see my lungs embrace the sun and sleep upon the moon
the way I used to wait for all the rest I found in You
but now that I have tasted every star that ever burned
I melt into the atmosphere I know cannot return
beyond this wretched dreaming I will find my way again
don't leave me now, I'm coming home, my Dearest, Truest Friend

I wonder if December talked to June, July and May
and somehow got confused like many humans are today
another conversation I've been having in my head
do seasons speak in words like us, a language that is dead?
perhaps we ate the fruit unripe and hastily denied
the days we have are measured in the 2's and 4's of time
no second can we add but many seconds can we waste
by calling on tomorrows like a destiny to chase
today the sun is moving but the moon will never know
tonight has come too early, asked the wintertime to go

there's just enough of everything for all of us to see
the beauty of the stars as they reflect in you and me
let dust upon our feet be settled everywhere we go
wholeheartedly received in Truth that everyone may grow
the seeds within our bones are secrets none of us should keep
so let the flowers bloom and plant their roots in deepest deep
respond to every petal while it lives and when it dies
remember why it laid to rest but found a way to rise
there's nothing but a parallel to draw from all of this
two lines forever moving, never crossed, they never kissed

I've gone to many places and I've seen so many things
she said in every language she'd collected on a string
a solace found in nature she projected onto those
who had no peace and quiet they could call their very own
I know this life is bitter even more than it is sweet
but let me pour this honey on the sores beneath your feet
the Earth is just as tired as the people it sustains
in search of rest in rivers running still as latter rain
let fog upon the soil give us time enough to heal
account for every single thing we ever said was real