Glimpses of your life without me,
The same looks that you’ve had your fair share of.
The look of an emptying river, low is our tide,
The sand and rocks our feelings slowly exposed
The small pools now trapped are our memories,
Lasting for as long as we will allow.
The pan flutes echo hauntingly through our valley,
And crimson inherits these banks.
We have now long left this place,
And yet everything here stilly waits.