The bench burned through my jeans I didn't expect to find you here on your knees As the sun sunk down I cannot be of naked trees The air is made of please, please
My mouth's not medicine And I can't be your cure anymore I can't fill you up The cold might phase your drowning eyes The air is made of sobs and sighs
CHORUS Shall I advise you? I am no wiser than you But it takes more than words To make false feelings true
The evening stretches on Submits to an unwelcome dawn Somehow we've just begun My dampened sleeves can't make you believe The air is made of things we can't retrieve
CHORUS
I'm writing all this down To later wrap my head around For now it's breath and sound... And sound... and sound...