There will always be next year.
He can close his eyes, move his head away
But will I be able to still see the sea?
A close question, he still speaks to me,
Just about believing in me,
Like I once believed about him,
My demonic honey,
All I asked you to do, was look at me
But you won’t, and that riles me
And you love doing it,
Teasing me, for my temptation,
I would tell you where to go
But that would make me the fool,
For what you can do
Is beyond the blueness of sea and speech.