What we were waiting on in the end.

When the tide arrived,
the cieling was crumbling,
and the sky had combined with this feeling o loss.
But I'd been here before,
wiser, i knew to laugh it off.

You were ironing shirts,
i'd been dreaming in waves,
of something I'll try to save,
like the sand you handed my eyes
and time that slipped away.

I am afraid,
the way of my grain isn't certain.
I'm still afraid,
I haven't got it right yet,
its wrong of me.

The faces in tree's
are circling me.
How did I get here?

The notes bend in the trees,
by way of the breeze,
Paper plane reunions.

You were watching the spikes,
a hospitals spite,
its not worth the fight,
am I right?

I talk way too much.
If this waiting room makes me wait too,
well what am I waiting for?

Once and again,
death is the end of the ending.