The weather seems right,
a soft temperature,
like feeling the rain,
touching our soul.
Inside a dream,
contains many avenues,
we speak too soon,
our time is now.
I wish to be forgotten,
letting memory be one.
The weather seems right,
a soft temperature,
like feeling the rain,
touching our soul.
Inside a dream,
contains many avenues,
we speak too soon,
our time is now.
I wish to be forgotten,
letting memory be one.