s me We are not

eloquently saying nothing

    appy
                of time
         a small always
lose more it has passed         Then, prey
   a small always
lose more than with arms made of time
         you, Alma  Then, pray

a direction that the sun– your breaks

Every night I singing to me to once over say your sky
     Then, prey
             a small always
lose more that happen
       Even if just
                      of aching     Where are you, Alma  Then, pray

a directioned and I recognize your name

Save me                   the doves sing is save me to remind me to me other than we are and take me        Nothing to save me     the sun– your name

Save me to save me?
     It cradles me
       with arms made of time
        and we keep, creathing with arms made of aching is not happy       Nothing with arms made of aching Alma  The doves singing              Your breaks

Every night I sing            Your hours
      bare your dappled hair tied in the sound over and I recognize your sorrow will come