So many voices, so many signs, so many times I thought you were mine
So many pieces are scattered across the floor, so many pictures of what came before
So many promises, so many pleas, so many Thank You's that never appease?
If we stand beneath the sunset
and it glitters upon our face
How many times
must we walk along a path
we've already traced?
With fingertips roughned by calluses that map a journey, forever heading South?
How many times must the sun set again before your taste will leave my mouth?