Hold my hand, grip it tight,
In these plains, a garden will rise, a new light.
How quickly the evening slipped away,
Guess the old sunset was too tired to stay.

The damp sounds of your quiet speech,
Muddied waters in eyes that seek sleep.
Hold my hand, grip it tight,
I’ll learn to hold you, keep you in sight.

Silent pines stand tall,
The earth tastes bitter, as wormwood falls.
I’ll wait here, in fragments of this dream,
Just to hear your voice, a soft, distant gleam.