The turn, the line that is drawn
The dawns, the evenings
The lights left on
Becomes this vine
That the past left to grow
The present lasts just a second
And the future comes too slow
The battles, the swords
We swore, they'd never know
But by this time I will have sketched
A short goodbye on our door
White flags to come, so soon
But it's too late
For fate would have you fooled
Into thinking I would stay
And I tried, so help me God
To change
But all this world became too strange
And I know that the page won't turn
Until one of us runs away
So I hope that you are safe
Inside where it's warm
Inside our old place
And you'll try to call
To see if I'm okay
But by this time I'll be gone
And it'll be much too late.
Written by: Niloo Farahzadeh
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