Antonia

Whoever says, we will warm our bones, after being away, the picture's not kind, we can cry but won’t, home is not right, thoughts that are slayed, the same as in war, when things become plain, like the harvest light, with hardly a wound, in an evening sky, maybe we’ll take a train, like winter's love, comes around this way, a horizon bright, we'll navigate alone, feeling for what’s right, a line on my face, I'll just carry on, everyone in this game, hears that sound.