Why can't we be like
we were at our honeymoon?

Stitching the petals
back onto the rose.

Images of you sitting
over the river,

memories of hurt,
no longer held close.

Don't sing me that song
with your brittle old voice,
it no longer
belongs to you.
The person I knew is still there at that river,
and I'm drowning in its endless blue.

Why can't we be like
we were at our older days?

The overgrown tree
it was right all along.

Surrounded by an ocean
of foreboding grey,

my mind can only find
its way back to your song.

Please sing me that song
with your brittle old voice,
for it always
belonged to you.
The person I know is still there at that river,
and I'm drowning in its endless blue