The sun was slow on borrowed time,
The sky was gold, but out of rhyme.
You looked away before you breathed,
And I knew the reason all along.
Was it mercy or was it pride?
To leave me there on my own side.
You picked the day I used to claim,
And turned it soft without my name.
When the season starts to turn,
Something breaks but doesn’t burn.
Maybe I was right before,
That birthdays were never made to hold.
The summer rain began to start,
It washed the street, not my heart.
The dates return, the names replay,
But time can’t take that day away.
When the season starts to turn,
Something breaks but doesn’t burn.
Maybe I was right before,
That birthdays were never made to hold.
When the night recalls that shade of blue,
Something lost comes bleeding through.
Still I breathe that summer night,
And wonder if you ever knew.
