There you made it
yet you can feel a vibration there
sort of wasting
you made a dress with the oldest inlays
all the years are gone to make you love
all the years are gone to make you love
You the driver
me the constant fear that makes you hide
you the artist
you the climber with no mountain high
make a living
used paperbacks and fisher caps
all the years are gone to make you love
all the years are there to make no sound
I'm tired
I'm tired
