As the days go by and the times they try

to pass through an open window

but it's cold out there in the morning air

chilled by the hand of winter

So I turned away from another day

let the curtains fall where they may

but a light shines through and it points to you

as you sit there turning the page

of a story you'd written a long time ago

about me in a whole other place

…

A table of oak held the book that you wrote

wrapped in a torn leather case

and the shadows you made

where the pen met the page

concealed in ashes and smoke

So I turned to you and asked what to do

where am I supposed to be

I've lost my way, I've lost my place

there's nothing ahead I can see

so you lifted your heart

and you broke it apart

and gave the pieces to me

…