It's not the red of the dying sun
Or the passion swelling in my tongue,
It's not the shock of black or white.
It's not the growling of the night.
We're not the one's who hold their breath
and pray for life, or pray for death,
We're not the ones who hope for more.
We're not heaving with fashioned furore.
I'm not asking for another year to
Mourn all the things we'll never do.
I love you, I kiss you, I smile and then -
The world may implode, and I'll love you again.