I'm used to your busyness
It's like getting used to the wind walking in the street
You come every year as promised
Plumped up in late spring and early summer
Gaze at you with your heart
One look is enough to tremble
The whole time and space
It's like getting used to the whispers of the wind
The years have left a deep mark on you
Gaze at you
Layers of blushing little faces
Drunk on my heart
It's like getting used to the wind blowing in your heart
Swaying in the wind, condensing in the fog
Attract the butterfly
Stabbed to the skin
Still obsessed with you