I hope my lungs can breathe you in
like the slow of winter drowns in everything.
I know it feels so innocent
to break the silence with the obvious.
All this shaking isn't waking me,
and all this taking isn't breaking me.
all this shaking isn't waking me.
And though, the trees, they tell of this,
my lips won't speak the words too delicate.
This is our slowdance romance, so intimate,
so the rest is told in better form and fit.