The art of longing
was painted
on the wall of sadness,
and yeah
you are the ink of my falling tears.

Tomorrow you'll come

back, or later, or never --


you'll never leave me.

Should I call
When my battery is dead
Should I cry
When my tears are dried
Should I hold on
When I'm weak
Should I feel safe
When I'm drowning
Should I care
When I don't know if you do
Should I just let go
When I've fallen so deep
Should I comfort my heart
When you are my only antidote
Should I look at what I don't have
When you are the only one I need
Should I keep asking myself question after question
When only you can give the answers
Should I want happy ever after
When this is not a fairytale
Should I close my eyes to the silent rhythm
When only you can play the right tune
All I know no matter the questions
Only you can give the answers

A stranger stopped by,
Asked how things were going
Simply put, the sun seems just as golden
The road glides easy as we drive into the next day,
The ocean breeze's just as sweet as the smiles on our face
There are no wounds, no tears
And yet, my world has shifted a few degrees
For it is the small scratch that forever bleeds
That pulls at one's existence like weeds
It's the ghost that lingers in the peripherals
It's the gasp, before the light switch is flicked on
With the lamp that swings alone, above what is truly gone
It's the wave of laughter that lacks its fourth part harmony
And it's the forgotten Christmas dinner seat.

Back then I had to get used
to myself, who I was
in my mother's videos

now to your voice, to you
lifelike smiling as if
you are in the other room

back from the story
in which I stayed behind
It is so definitely over

even if you and me together
would hear and see again
what it was like

and just as little would understand
that you really have existed
there and then

You can endure it
but you won't get used to it
you won't get used to it