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Description
To the last hours left, a ballad made from mess.

To the days of summer much different from the past. I find myself sitting with you outside.
Waiting for the end of days to come and pick you up from this place.

We don't say much anymore for moments like these. but we smile awkwardly and touch each others faces.

And with nothing more then a burning look, your off down the road, down the years.

and i will wait for you again, and trip down autumn stairs and break my bones off the ice.
Then some day will you dust the leaves from my body.

To this last hour left, we will sing a ballad for your death.

Description
To the last hours left, a ballad made from mess.

To the days of summer much different from the past. I find myself sitting with you outside.
Waiting for the end of days to come and pick you up from this place.

We don't say much anymore for moments like these. but we smile awkwardly and touch each others faces.

And with nothing more then a burning look, your off down the road, down the years.

and i will wait for you again, and trip down autumn stairs and break my bones off the ice.
Then some day will you dust the leaves from my body.

To this last hour left, we will sing a ballad for your death.