When your eyes are painted charcoal
and the morning dew hits your nose,
and rows of fresh roses tickle your toes.

Don’t look at the sunrise and think
that it might mean something new,
there’s nothing that you can do.

The streams ebb, and memories fade,
while you look to the stars and see
nothing, and most certainly not me.

When your eyes are painted charcoal
and the morning dew hits your nose,
and rows of fresh roses tickle your toes.