Like an alarm clock from the old oak cabin
I wind and wait for you to find

Like a night of rest in which myself
Is nowhere to be found

Like a wishful sigh which dies out slow
As the noise is consumed by the town

So no words are like this, ever enough for me
To express my wingding down

Like a burst of grape in the eager mouth
So a sound it last is out

For the Like in me has not gone away
So much as just been pushed around, haha.