My fingertips stains the windows from the fog it exhales.
while I sit and stare into its mirror, of a mist that's lonely and pale.
My mind wanders into its existence, of no clue of where it suspend,
just a place as I sit and dream of him, and how far his hands can extend.
winter brings pain
spring brings hope
summer brings tears
fall brings a lonely lane
To every season, I wait, and contend with my soul;
from a script that's been written, leaving the story untold.
Where does the seasons go?
Do they evaporate in the fog, with my love left on its mantles?
They burn the promises of my love story, resting on a bed of weeping candles.
To every season I give my plea,
change the motions in your mood, and give me my beloved to be.
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