as the waves will always roll, i'll think of
you. it's important to know what we couldn't
do

and i'm looking every night:

all in time, most of this will try to
fade from the cold inside and morning
light to save for the fallen son
deep at home (and either one would
never know). it just kept coming on,
it apart again until the quiet's gone
digging, just to fill it in (and missing
where the pieces fall) or maybe slipping
still, as the blinds are drawn.

was there something that i made and never
gave to you? i'll keep it to myself as
i think of you and the waves will always roll