Clementines on a Sunday morning

I've had a taste of love
I fell down
Way too many times
This feeling's so surreal
Must be crime... Crime?

Subtle, subliminal
You come around like a criminal
And leave me yearning
For your
Clementines on a Sunday morning.

I'm not here
I'm not here
I'm not here


It's just happening
I'm just hurting
Aching, to not feel
the pain.

But,
I'm not here

This isn't real

This isn't happening

Who am I

a weightless soul

drifting by in the sky.