Spring.

I’ll Meet You Where The Ocean Meets The Sky,

And Only There Can We Say Goodbye.

Somewhere Between Infinity And The End.

A Place To Sink Or Ascend.

I Wish Not To Bid You A Fond Farewell,

But Only Time Will Tell,

That If I Do And Wait And See,

Maybe You’ll Return To Me.

And It’s The Flower That Dies Every Year,

To Which We May Shed A Tear,

Only To See It Return In Time,

When The Snow Melts And The Sun Shines.

If You’ll Be My Flower I Will Be Your Sun,

But If Not, What’s Done Is Done.