You saw green and sloping,
bright and blooming,
the breeze and voice,
and the fresh and grass,
like brown honey warm,
like miles and miles,
like soft in the gaze of September sun.
The ground only
knows how we find our way home,
people say what they mean,
like intentions are clean,
like these fields have we look like the bread.
People come and they go,
like the story's been told,
like my head's just an open iPad.
But you were in the golden wave of the meadow,
you
rested your head on me.
We took the train,
ten minutes away,
cause the bus takes forever,
and everyone must sleep.
And I said life is a bus, it goes on forever,
you just laughed, but it set me free.
I
say it set me free.
People
say what they mean, like intentions are clean,
like these fields have we look like the bread.
People come and they go,
like the story's been told,
like my head's just an open iPad.
But you,
as you rode those tracks through the meadow,
you
rested your head on me.
You rested your head on me.