Golden were the days that we spent rolling up the fire
and thought of going straight but then decided not to try it
set the dimmer to a flicker
traced the zippers with our fingers
and we opened like the waves and twisted up into the sky
hurting like the daisies that grew up along the wire
and speaking solemn to the trees
to pick the fruit and strip the seeds
just to be tossed along a trail that spirals back and out of sight
thought that all we really needed was a dream that bound the seasons
to the depths of sudden feelings that we knew while we were high
and holding onto friends as they were leaving us behind
but underneath the woven leaves
you'd seen the roots get thick with breathing in
the bodies of the people turning back into the wild
and speaking solemn to the trees
to pick the fruit and strip the seeds
just to be tossed along a trail that spirals back and out of sight
now there's no right way home
and there's no lights in the attic on
I traded light for the feel of gold
now there's no right way home
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