Untitled No. 4

In this air, there is a whisper
Cracking hands, a chill of winter
Moving nothing, she just stood there
Nerves connecting in her blank stare
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Its like a blanket
A white shine
Moving through time
That she can hold to
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He is chasing, a picture he painted
She thinks he'll fix, the times she hated
Haze grows thicker, up the mountain
The blanket deeper, he's almost broken
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The picture's faded
Evaporating
He has nothing
That will save her
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The air is different, nothing standing
No way to move, this frozen blanket
Her hand waves, rolling over
Helps pull him through, into the story
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The scene comes back, sets itself
The light she had, is dimmer now
And all that's left, a wood grain table
Between the two, and what is able

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