You were looking away from me, western skies calling you.
Colors spilling, running dazzling you.
I was looking the other way, voices call from the east,
I saw my roots of the trees there planted at my feet.
It could be I'm searching for a place so small
With room for everything where worlds on worlds revolve.
But how can we wait?
I wouldn't hold you back.
Suppose I was the clere one and words came easy to me.
I could say I was writing a song about you and me.
Maybe that verse is yet tobe found, but waits inside of me,
A secret room, a tangled web to unweave.
But how can we wait knowing our ways,
How can we hold on,
Still you know it's not too late.
Writer(s): Dennis Arnold Drew, Steven E. Gustafson, Jerome Stanley Augustyniak, Mary Jeanne Ramsey, John C. Lombardo, Robert N. Buck
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