We will walk
Where the sun drips like honey,
Just past,
The horizon.
How, in only our eyes
I see the birth
Of every moment.
What do we say
When we look away?
Will we yet be
As the dust in summer?
Childish,
In the roots,
Of an olive tree.
We will walk
Where the sun drips like honey,
Just past,
The horizon.
How, in only our eyes
I see the birth
Of every moment.
What do we say
When we look away?
Will we yet be
As the dust in summer?
Childish,
In the roots,
Of an olive tree.
