Words Of Innocence And Preservation

It's hard to say when I will see you next
The ground is cold and the leaves haven't come
I wake up early as the light comes in
I guess it won't be long, it won't be long
Everything seems like a lost and faded painting
The only valuable thing being the frame
The only musical thing left are the children in the street
The rattling of the prams in the apartments upstairs
And the old women habitually try on their old dresses
Before thinking of the new issues that are plaguing their honest thoughts
I recorded your face last time I saw you
Its printed like the digits on my watch against my mind's chest
I hold a knife to my dictionary, knowing I have to be asked
I hold a knife to my expectations knowing I am to be old
There are cars on the curbs, clovers growing at my feet
Mowers to mow the three leaves, mowers to mow the four leaves
Your shoulders will be kept back
My shoes will be polished, and the silences will be kept apart
Kept distant by memories spoken and acknowledged
I think I know this is all too much
This waiting for you to grow old and meet me again
We are two songs next to one another
Running into one another
Different tempos yet we have the same themes
Love and Time, words of innocence and preservation
We will meet again, sitting silently listening to the music
And finding the four leaf clovers to press in dictionaries carved with knives