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Green

de The Weather Station

I woke up thinking of a song that I could write
A song to pull the dream up from my night
All day I felt so light
And wild color bled along the road
In the fields and fences as we drove along
I was thinking of my song
And what I'd place inside, if I could bury light
In something I could write

Would it explain to you this white Moon
Hanging high above the motel room?
The last gasp of longing that I stretch my hand towards
As though to steal from the moment some souvenir of words

I woke up thinking of a song that I could write

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