You were overlooking the seafront, an open.
I asked of another in wonder, as a token of guilt
And as we drift across the asphalt, overlapping the lines in the road
I remember a thought in soft focus for the last time, I know... or don't
A mental image, a picture painting for you.
A wrath of primary colours, only more blue
A mirror image, a home waiting for you.
If only I actually had something to do
I was overlooking the city, a foreign windowsill.
I'd never seen our hole from that angle before, but still
We're drifting across the asphalt, overlapping the lines in the road
Remembering thoughts in soft focus, intact with what we know, or don't
After all, it's the least I could do in return for growing up
I think I'd rather a small, white lie, than the crippling truth
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