| Oceans shape the sides
|
| Touching down in the spaces
|
| Soaking from a warm goodbye
|
| An early rise offers kindly
|
| Tonight I sleep to dream
|
| Of a place that’s calling me
|
| It is always just a dream
|
| Still I cannot forget what I have seen
|
| The crowd’s hard to believe
|
| At their faces I’m looking
|
| But your feet I’m following
|
| In soft steps on a path the way you lead
|
| I don’t want to lose myself
|
| It’s a whisper
|
| It’s a funny thing
|
| We fold like icicles on paper shelves
|
| It’s a pity to appear this way
|
| You’re flying when your foreign eyes
|
| Trace the heights of the city
|
| Steaming
|
| With rocks and clouds we breathe
|
| Violent skies
|
| A shock to my own body
|
| Speech is wild
|
| Alive sacred and sounding
|
| Wild
|
| From across and beyond, oh far beyond
|
| I don’t want to lose myself
|
| It’s a whisper
|
| It’s a funny thing
|
| We fold like icicles on paper shelves
|
| It’s a pity to appear this way
|
| Hold, hold, hold on
|
| I swear I saw it somewhere
|
| Waving, waiting, one, two, three, above the wakes that follow
|
| Hold, hold, hold on
|
| I swear I saw it somewhere
|
| Waving, waiting, one, two, three, above the wakes that follow
|
| I don’t want to lose myself
|
| Tonight I sleep to dream of a place that’s calling me
|
| It’s a whisper
|
| It is always just a dream
|
| It’s a funny thing
|
| Still I cannot forget what I have seen
|
| We fold like icicles on paper shelves
|
| With rocks and clouds we breathe, a shock to my own body
|
| It’s a pity
|
| Alive sacred and sounding
|
| To appear this way
|
| From across and beyond, oh far beyond |