During the night, an afterimage of the midday sea is floating.
The voice it repeats is that of a wreckage, moving on.
An endless kindness that we would like to bury, in the deep. The colour once a clouded crimson, has faded.
Everything is looking up, and I am inviting you to a dream that will not end.
The wind sweeps at the bloom of sand, and carries it softly to your feet.
My request is absorbed, a feather in the distance,
My body is sinking, though it could be without breath.
A tear-coloured cloud is wandering, it starts to flow,
Until a rainbow disappears, just for your trickling tear.
We begin to melt, being so agreeable, and everything looks up; I pray it doesn’t end.
The wind sweeps at the blossom of rebellion, the bloom of sand, and carries it to your feet.
A tear-coloured cloud is wandering, it starts to flow,
Until a rainbow disappears, just for your trickling tear.
Everything is looking up, and I am inviting you to a dream that will not end.
The wind sweeps at the bloom of sand, and carries it softly to your feet.
The wind sweeps at the blossom of rebellion, the bloom of sand, and carries it to your feet.
