Lately, the sunrise starts boring you as well.
Days go by slowly. It's too hot on the shoreline.
Even if you could hold all that you need, you still won't be satisfied.
As if you were a timeline you count the hours that pa**, one after another.
And the day's emptiness nibbling at all of your veins.
Dream of other times.
I was hoping to find some peace in your eyes,
After years that you've been searching for a father figure.
But today's white soon will be all red.
People don't stick around forever.
Imagine how tomorrow you will be much closer.
The smell of lemon and citrus peels returns you back half life time.
You thought that if you'd stand on your own the world will do the rest.
(Did it do anything at all?)
And on Saturdays you hold a paintbrush again, and drift with the sounds of the afternoon.
Dream of other times. Dream of other times.
Imagine how tomorrow you will be much closer.
Lately, the sunrise starts boring you as well.
How many can you possibly draw?