All memories are of memories,
or born out of prompts.
So I find it hard,
find it hard to place you in time.
I find it hard to place you.
As distance grows,
what i recall may become freyed,
but there's a warmth,
there's a warmth in the air,
chasing the horizon.

I won't lay you down,
I don't build my towers on sand.
Though debris will fall,
you'll stay around.

If the future stole the photographs,
and our paths crossed again,
i couldn't pick you out; pick your face out of the crowd,
i couldn't pick you out.
Change has taken hold of me,
and you are standing still,
but there's a warmth,
there's a warmth in the air,
chasing the horizon.

I won't lay you down,
I don't build my towers on sand.
Though debris will fall,
you'll stay around.

Pictures tell a thousand words, but all I need is one.


I won't lay you down,
I don't build my towers on sand.
Though debris will fall,
you'll stay around.
I won't lay you down,
I don't build my towers on sand.
Though debris will fall,
you'll stay around.