Time wears gloves on its hands.
It tiptoes past us,
Cautious of alerting us to its shadowy presence.
We only notice its movement once it has gone.
It tiptoes past us,
The absence echoes other absences, stolen and loved.
We only notice its movement once it has gone.
Ghosts coat all our rooms in dust, the fixtures in dust.
The absence echoes other absences, stolen and loved.
Plucking memories without a trace
Ghosts coat all our rooms in dust, the fixtures in dust.
My mind used to be so much more.
Plucking memories without a trace
I feel empty
My mind used to be so much more
I long for the beach. I want to feel the sand tickle my toes
I feel empty
Time wears gloves on its hands.
I long for the beach. I want to feel the sand tickle my toes
Cautious of alerting us to its shadowy presence.