Across the Atlantic

I’m home once again in this cold Nordic town
and it feels very different now that I have time to calm down
the trees aren’t as tall here and the plates aren’t as grand
but today it’s gorgeous in this cold, still land
And I wish I could tell you what I’m going through
I’m peeling back layers, and I keep coming to you
I might be too far away, and you might be too hurt
but I want you to know there’s a lot that I’ve learned
It’s good to be home here and it’s good to see friends
and I love to bike through the familiar bends
But there’s also a sadness I only reach in these parts
it could probably break the strongest of hearts
There are things I would tell you if you were here in this state
But you’re across the Atlantic, and it might be too late
I’d tell you the sky here sometimes looks like your eyes
and my heart is a race-car when I look to the skies
I’d tell you the leaves whisper your name
and there’s a scent of you in the cool evening rain
There are silent recitals of poems about you
and of the seven heartbreaks that I put you through
But when I look up, the houses are tall
everything’s behind something, this town’s built on walls
The streets are all empty, there’s a wind from the shore
I can hear the cold chill from behind the closed doors
And I wish I could tell you to come here to me
and some how you’d appear from across the sea
The trees would be waiting in their winter gowns
here in this cold and beloved hometown.