No, the muffin over there—
not the crumpet.
Listen, I said the cake on the corner,
by the scone.
Alright,
I meant cookie...
but as we argue semantics
we've burnt the toast.
but as we argue semantics
we've burnt the toast.
weaving timelessly into the times, I left myself to search for more
The secret I'll tell you
it starts in my sleep
when I take you to bed
I ask for a dream
to cope with the pain
I replay in my head.
See,
loving you for so long
is the kind of loving
where I forged strength
to endure
every tug and push
while the weight of distance
kept growing
creating space in my heart
to see you
in letters
and songs
poems
and dreams
pieces I put together
dissolving into streams
connecting to my heart
to keep me alive
burning on the inside
because I'm in love
with the secret I'll tell you—
you're the one
I hide.