There's a dull ache that refuses to lay low
There's a chill in the air that'll be there tomorrow
And five letters unfinished in a perpetually lovely script
That will sit there and fade away bit by torn bit
A piece of you will stay here in this spot
Where our arms were entwined but our hearts were not
I'll call every Monday as I used to before
Our faces were masked and we asked for no more
We'll pretend we're still weaving away from the town
In the black night that we'll never, ever live down
A kiss on these lips is more than I'll take
Hungrily fed what only you ever could make.
We'll chalk it up to fear and doubt
Determined now that we'll never put out
And every door slam and angry word
Will chase our sanity on wings of a bird
The ending will come much faster paced
While we sit around laughing with drinks that are laced
With promises broken and blown out cold
Tearing the lining of our earthenware mold
It's cold in December, but you're cold in July
I finally realized that it's my time to fly.
Fly by K. Coulson


