July threw my heart to the sea; it went floating. He said it would come back to me if I send a boat in. But before I could, wind swept August off the woods and left her soaring. And before I knew, I heard the sea. He said: "September is a thief, he's a tear of grief and October's cold breeze can't set him falling. He would only stay to warm up; to go away until there comes a day when he hears November's calling."
I peeked over the fences, went out of my senses; November was a life and a death so stalling. There was only December and all I could remember was how January's leaves fell off trees to gather up and catch a breeze, and leave my heart crawling.
Stop this water if you can, before it drowns me at the door. I'm learning how to find a skill away from the shore. But before I lose myself, stop me. Don't make me climb a wave to drop me. The sun goes down every night, and so do my eyes. Here is my temple. Give me light to fill its cracks. This will be my last favor to ask. My heartbeats go faster every minute, but then they lose track. Whose to speak hope when what I want is what I lack? Find me; not because I'm lost but because I'm empty. Repair this heart; not because it's broken but because it left me. I have put flowers on the window pane as the wind drifts me. Still I sent kisses to the air, forgot all the unjust and unfair, like we all do. Here is my temple. Give me light to fill its cracks. This will be my last favor to ask. You are never to show me light if not now, for I can never see but now. A victim is never born one, even in a starving womb, survival is a need, not a choice, that's what makes giving up so hard. Make up, repair, build, now.