Woorden: Bright Eyes. Touch.

Touch, lying on the floor wishing this could last,
but knowing that it can't.
Soon you will leave, and I'll be on the floor,
watching a TV, trying hard to find a reason to move.
I'm frozen in one place, staring at the screen,
listening to the rain falling on the street.
Some days go on too long, so no one can hang out tonight.
Here where the carpet's cool and soft, underneath the clock,
I feel my weary heart is put to rest.
You gather around your friends,
the connection that you feel, when the night has not yet died, you are new.
With a promise of a love, you'll probably never find and touch, that you can really feel.
The brokenness inside as hope and less collide, now nothing is real.
There is nothing more I want than just one night that's free of doubt and sadness.
One night that I can really feel.

(You are new and near now to someone you used to love when you were young,
when all was gold and you two touched and felt the flutter underneath your skin.
You stood in glowing rooms,
the light dripping from both of you,
and nothing since has felt as radiant or real.)