It's a washboard of broken dreams,
A smile of stars,
Road signs that have never tried to speak,
Can this moonlight engulf us?
Roads tear up what wasn't empty land,
Love is a growing tree, with knots,
And our feet bleed from walking,
Like her heart from all his talking,
Butterflies with extra wings,
With a painful reality, why do the birds sleep while we lie awake?
The stars don't tell much,
But that look on your face,
It sure does.