I remember the hiding place that we once shared.
It's a passage full of stepping stones
from where I stay, to where I lay.
Weather changes ways,
in our imagination things can change.
I feel alone some days,
your last letter said I'm feeling strange.
We grew up, now, my old friend,
and we turned around.
It's like thunder in the afternoon,
when you beg for rain, then you get your way.
Weather changes ways,
in our imagination things can change.
I feel alone some days,
but your last letter said she feels like home,
if she feels like home, then we're happy.