I have unpacked my love for you so many times. Unpacked and unthreaded and threw it out my window. What was I supposed to do? You have hands like tornados and calm seas. What was I to do to? Your lips are like a rainy morning with my music on.
What was I supposed to do? When the morning comes and the sun rises, this love climbs up my window and cries to be let back in. It threads itself up and finds the corners of my prayers.
What am I going to do?