Pinesong

The time has come for giving up.
I have lost.
I wanted once to become what I cannot.
Why come to me so full of dreams?
Well, go on.
With feathered kegs,
You're mocking me.
I am locked.
It's easier to pine.
To pine.
But I can feel it,
Through the fields of graves;
A beating heart.
While rolling hills are roaming through my veins.
And open arms and all is full of smoke.
Ah pining.
The words you speak,
Stir things in me that I thought were gone.
Their faint white heat melts centuries deep in frost.
But I can feel it,
Through the fields of graves;
A beating heart.
While rolling hills are roaming through my veins.
And open arms and all is full of hope.
Ah pining.