But you’ve watched, so many of us come… and do we go? What brought all of us to you? Or is it that we had never left?
But there has to be more than this. Please. There has to be more than you, cause I don’t think that I can go on walking on this endless street.
Cause every time I leave, every time I love, I see wonders, I see wonders. I’m starting to think that they are just delusions to make me feel hope. I can’t find more; I can’t find a way out of your arms, out of your reach. Cause every time I leave, every time I love, your unfailing hands drag me back. Like the rake pulls leaves into the pile. Like the rake pulls leaves into the pile, you pull me back against my will to the summer, winter, fall, and the spring. Like the rake pulls leaves into the pile.
But I can see leaves left behind. They’ve been picked up by the wind. And they fly high, high in the sky, looking down on this pile of dead leaves.