1. |
Ink
04:16
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Black ballpoint pen on a picnic bench, that I wrote for you
First frost on the chain link fence as I look through
Rough knots in the gray grain where we used to sit
The ink must have worn away, became a part of it
Through the chutes and the stairs, I lost track of whats where
Forgotten you, I've forgotten you
I can't remember exactly where I pushed that pen
Soft beneath the pressure it looked so different then
Mellow my mind, and let go of it
Keep my peace and prayers beneath my fingertips
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2. |
Figure Eights
04:00
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