Where the woods would wear the wafting sounds of sea
Roves an oath, in search for something more to be
"still hard for me".

Treading lightly, tightly shedding its old skin
Leaving trails of night for light to bring chagrin
While air grows thin
In these hands I'll hide
While this world collides
It's not enough for me

Wailing winds, alarm, in feathers it have dressed
surrounding what's left inside its chest
we too shall rest

Roaring lungs, as oath [bad word] through flight past trees
only the rhythm of love escapes the harmonies
leaving us a beat.