All these years of thinking, ending up like this: In front of all this beauty, understanding nothing.

One day you're waiting for the sky to fallThe next you're dazzled by the beauty of it all

I've been scraping little shavings off my ration of lightAnd I've formed it into a ball, and each time I pack a bit more onto itI make a bowl of my hands and I scoop it from its secret cacheUnder a loose board in the floorAnd I blow across it and I send it to youAgainst those moments whenThe darkness blows under your doorIsn't that what friends are for?