I dream about the summer times,
Where the yellow hues were
Luring us
Around sunflowers,
That were yellow
to the depth of their cores,
Telling us how they missed
seeing us together.
But, now that you are gone
And I am here,
The yellow hues aren’t yellow anymore,
The sunflowers aren’t yellow anymore,
They talk about how they are
Turning grey, grey like the ashes
That you turned out to be.
Oh, dayou,
Leaving behind the only thing you couldn’t take with you,
Me.
Sep 18, 2019
Sep 18, 2019 at 5:41 AM UTC
I dream about the summer times,
Where the yellow hues were
Luring us
Around sunflowers,
That were yellow
to the depth of their cores,
Telling us how they missed
seeing us together.
But, now that you are gone
And I am here,
The yellow hues aren’t yellow anymore,
The sunflowers aren’t yellow anymore,
They talk about how they are
Turning grey, grey like the ashes
That you turned out to be.
Oh, dayou,
Leaving behind the only thing you couldn’t take with you,
Me.
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