Day, day, day why couldn't it be night, why are my words hiding from the stars, one single touch would be enough to make this mouth disappear
Writing an essay, using her name, he is sitting there counting the hours, quietly and slowly he leaves his room to go to the hill right outside
On top of his dreams he opens his thoughts, and caresses the night with his eyes, he longs for it all but is too far away, turning to light is hard
When he enters his room it all develops, into skies, yellow and pink, his table is a tree and on the leaves he can see, words of his own speaking, free to be him, free to love her, he continues to turn to the light
