I asked you about the weather,You asked if I was sleeping.Neither of us touched the truthPressed hard against the glass.Time was called, our red eyes metBut our skin was not permitted.I hope you know I miss you — and all your ways.
When the Soul Cried Out for Meaning
I asked you about the weather,You asked if I was sleeping.Neither of us touched the truthPressed hard against the glass.Time was called, our red eyes metBut our skin was not permitted.I hope you know I miss you — and all your ways.