When I escaped my hair to find a new continent,
my heart promised to wait to beat
for someone I’d meet at the end of the world.
Nights of hollow walls and new forms of hunger,
brought to my knees against the wind,
learning to hold my own hands in the dark.

Convinced by the American dream
that there was salvation in freedom,
I’d smile and weep when I was stuck in the rain
because it was a thousand blessings on my skin.
Pain in the guise of passion,
worn gently round my neck like a scarf, a noose.

And somewhere lost in snow,
overlooking the starlight quiet,
reflected in waves calling me back to their lighthouse,
it was suddenly too warm to wear anymore
when you spoke soft the fortune of finding ourselves,
together at the end of the world.