I am the moment you wake from dreaming; chaos and lavender.
I am thunder that holds the clouds together, softly and out of tune.
I am the swallow on your chest; 5000 miles and counting.
I am Winter as he plays out his old sea shanty.
Who can hold my folk songs as I sleep?
I am that battered old Island; seaweed in colour; magic in form.
I am her sea birds as the waves dance clumsily;
melodies holding rhymes so ancient.
I want to come back here, again and again, with you.
Who can ever know the blues of our sky?
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