your arms are etched
with red and black
they're the story of summer that I look back
on
have i forgotten the sound of the waves
the soft of the cushion
the games that we played
we learned different strategy
and sing different tunes
my only regret is
that i missed the moons
which marked all the hours
of the days that we spent;
we didn't know curses
we didn't pay rent
the days idled wildy
the nights sauntered on,
your arms tell the story
of the summer that's gone
Sep 3, 2011
Sep 3, 2011 at 7:10 PM UTC
your arms are etched
with red and black
they're the story of summer that I look back
on
have i forgotten the sound of the waves
the soft of the cushion
the games that we played
we learned different strategy
and sing different tunes
my only regret is
that i missed the moons
which marked all the hours
of the days that we spent;
we didn't know curses
we didn't pay rent
the days idled wildy
the nights sauntered on,
your arms tell the story
of the summer that's gone