"It's late in the night
3:08
filled with hate
thought it was fate
turns out it's all fake
I still wait
for what? oh I wish I knew
flying feelings over the moon"

Summer in a corn field  
learning about love.

Two kids coming of age 
Under the afternoon sun.

She was warm, and wild, and willing,
I was young and hard and lean.

It wasn't exactly love
It was never meant to be.

We both went our own way, 
living our own dreams.

But sometimes when I'm sleeping 
you come back to me.

Through the corn fields of my mind,
We wander one more time.

You were warm, and wild, and willing,
I was young, and hard, and lean.

And we make love in memories,
we make love in dreams.

I wake and I wonder,
do you ever wonder of me?

Do you ever revisit the corn fields
of our childhood memories?

Do you ever wake and wonder,
Whatever became of me?

I wonder what became of you!

I sit and watch the world spin round 
glad I'm no longer in the fray.

Time has quietly passed me by 
as day bleeds into day.
The night it moves much slower.
My mind always fast awake, 
sleep is often hard to find
before the day's break.

Vampiric nights and exhausted days
swirl and turn inside a yellow haze.

This is my life now!

I sit and watch the world spin round
wishing I was still in the fray.

Longing to feel the sun on my face
and frolic away my days.

This is my life now.

Is this my life now!?

It's been a long winter,
It's always worse in the winter.

Quietly sitting beside a dying fire,
hands outstretched, waiting for warmth
that never fully comes.
You tell yourself it's fine,
even fading heat is better than the cold.

But is it enough?
The flickering embers,
the half-light that barely holds back the night.
It is better than the risk of ashes,
better than watching it all burn away.

So you stay.
You stir the coals,
feed it what little you have left,
collecting the smallest sparks,
as if they might one day catch flame.

But they never do.
And deep down, you know they won’t.
The fire dims, shrinking into embers,
glowing softly but offering nothing,
leaving only smoke and the weight of the chill.

And maybe it’s too late.
Maybe one day, the fire will vanish completely,
a hollow space where warmth once lived.
Or maybe—just maybe—
you’ll walk away before the cold takes you too.