1. 27
    Feb

    The white fog hugs my car
    Suddenly aware that youth is fleeting
    73 miles seems too far
    To hide the thoughts my mind is beating
     
    The blinding, rising sun

    The hills rise and drop with our spirits
    And appears a great light
    Oblivious to why we’re heading near it

    The blinding, rising sun

    We bury all our what-ifs
    Suppress secrets we’ll never say
    Words unspoken may be our greatest gift
    Minds flash back to a different day

    The blinding, rising sun


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