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.