My eyes begin to fail on themself, like the dawn—I begin to lose sight of my hometown. Lost in the footsteps of my own, I can only hope it'd leave me vulnerable.

I follow the trail of warmth—noticing that this'll only hurt. You trick me to be held on your lap, and I feel at home. The warmth becomes addicting, and it consumes my heart—encased with a sheep's wool.

Though, my eyes begin to deceive me, and as they shut I believe to myself that I've seen a wolf. I hastily become anxious of our time, despite the warmth you provide.

Just as I begin to close my tired eyes—the wool that once encased me had left. I begin to rub my eyes at a single realization. You weren't a wolf, but neither were you a loving sheep.

You were a lady with a loving heart, one that wasn't made for me.