The script inside the shadow that follows me like raindrops
The blisters on my sole that rubs against my high tops
Whispers of the wind that guard from my surrender
The voice inside my head that saves my Sweet November
And though I cannot fathom another day alone
I feel as I’ve forgotten you’d never really gone
The miles may pass behind us like yellow strips of memory
But man I have to tell you, they’re much more than just a
story
Like golden roads to Oz of pasts I can’t undo
That takes me by the lake; that guides me back to you
If more than pennies in a pocket were branded to my name
I’d glance at the horizon, and wish upon a train
That this shadow on my shoulder could see me once again
One day you’ll finally see the soft and shattered spine
That binds us to the
pages of your paperback with mine
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