Gardens Of The South

I feel desire in the night

From the pools below

You take me down to the edge

And stars lays flakes of snow

And ripples and such

Will light that refers to gesturing hands that I have had to touch

Oh

Time's still when I walk through the trees

In the morning glow

That taste of petrol and fallen leaves

When you ask about and saying too much

I blight

I can tell by your eyes and hands that you haven't said enough

Even though I style golden images of you

Every now and then nothing wrong with a rose view

Slow views from the window on a train

Frozen afternoon

Mistrals that caresses distance hills

Dotted image

The cars parked in the stations dance

That defined Sunday hours I spent in my head traveling homeward again

It's always hard thinking that I've accustomed the cold

But they dry and still as it is

My arms written as I'm sent back to years

But in a weekly view in the gardens of the south

Gives me time to remember the winter we've had

Pools of your eyes in the night

Images of time must've fused with a strong fuel

I forget a line but the pictures still burns through

And even though I style golden images of you

Every now and then nothing wrong with a rose view