like a fingerprint of fog on your skin
I lay on the orange field. The stoned hour
lights my bones to find out where I have been
I’m melting, my heart is becoming your favourite colour

like the leaves on a tree, the shivers on my spine
the light is resting in your eyes in the morning
you point at the sky, oh such a beautiful crime
the clouds may be cold, but the distance is burning

like a sinking ship my head falls in your hands
I see the light and I’m trying to run
but the air I’m breathing in suddenly beginning to bend
‘cause my conscience’s a trigger and my brain is a gun


but I never knew that the sun hides away and tries
to change the colours of my skies