There’s something imagined, not recalled. Bright and raw, bits of street, browning leaves: a collection of images.
I was afraid for I was afraid for you For your tendency to let the past live let the past live on inside of your head And I still pray for and I still pray for you to find your way home And as the days grow and as the days grow short the air’s familiar.
Forget what I said “I need you” I’m not waiting I believe you now. The past is a mess of misguided feelings. There’s something in the air, I see it drifting towards me I can’t make it out. The past is a memory, solid with yearning.