Outside I look at trees,
I wonder what happened to all of the green I knew.
Look what mother nature's style has come to.
Browns like the dirt it'll rot to.
Reds like a blood of her changing veins.
Yellows like little suns it'll miss soon.
What if all the leaves had their own names.
Would we grow fond or grow indifferent all the same?
Diaries full of memories that differ from what's current.
All made to make the present last, just to preserve it.
Crawling back like you,
nostalgic of all the things we used to have time to do.
Skies white and blue,
just like us, just changing and forever new
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 6:33 AM UTC
Outside I look at trees,
I wonder what happened to all of the green I knew.
Look what mother nature's style has come to.
Browns like the dirt it'll rot to.
Reds like a blood of her changing veins.
Yellows like little suns it'll miss soon.
What if all the leaves had their own names.
Would we grow fond or grow indifferent all the same?
Diaries full of memories that differ from what's current.
All made to make the present last, just to preserve it.
Crawling back like you,
nostalgic of all the things we used to have time to do.
Skies white and blue,
just like us, just changing and forever new
