This light at the end of the day/
When even the highway seems still/
The map in my hands folded shut/
there isn't one magical word/
But a carnival of them instead/
Like an old silent cinema screen.
And in this light you are framed classically/
Just a painting that hangs in my head/
That I know like the back of my hand/
With the sunset the neon awakes/
And the cold colours dance on your skin/
And finally the modern makes sense to me.
You're effortless, you know you are/
And all I want to do/
Is let you lead me off into the dusk/
The shadows kiss before we do/
Right here in the dark/
I revel in the calm before the storm.
"Held in the Arms of Your Words"
TIRED PONY
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