Wait below the windy willow
that ripples the river with dreams
which, like skipping stones sink below
with flailing arms and silent screams.

I’m on my way down phantom lanes
leaving mud tracks of sunset rust.
Every roaring turn looks the same,
lost in the golden clouds of dust.

The wet paint night comes dripping down
cold regrets and a broken vow
on grey curbs in an unknown town.
I hope you’re walking home by now.

When the pale moon is on the rise
let’s build a bridge of starry skies
midst midnight mist and fireflies
I’ll meet you to apologise.

We’ll rise from fire and cobblestone,
stardust and light within our bones-
the sky our crown, the earth our throne,
let’s rebuild a world of our own.