It's like i'm standing at the bottom of the Grand Canyon at 3:27 am and i'm screaming your name screaming and screaming and it feels like the whole world can hear it but it bounces off the cold rock and the only answer I get is the echo of my scratchy voice that somehow made it's way out of my throat that is now raw from the endless need to receive a response and it's making my head pound and it seems like lately you are no where to be found and i'm just trying to make it home but I don't think I can carve people out of stone and I may be able to build a house in the sand but they say 'home is where the heart is' and my heart is where you are and I am where you're not so a house made of sand would do no good except to shade me from the desert sun when it awakens over the canyon but truthfully I'd rather burn up down here than drink one drop of water just so I could remember one last time how my body filled with heat when you'd say my name and my heart would stop when your light took away my last bit of pain.