Holding on to pieces, of our summer, going by. On a wall of memories, at the edges of my mind. Whoa, they used to tell a story. But they’re just paper to me now. Whoa, they used to say 1000 words.
I've been walking down this winding road. No sign showing me where to go. Far away I can see the city lights. I'll get there if I have to walk a mile I've been waiting, waiting, for so long now. A