In the future
when mornings are no longer about fingertips and shoulders
In a few months,
when our nightstand holds alarm clocks and phones
instead of wine glasses and ashtrays
After some years
when my memory fades the way
clouds and spiderwebs do
I will look back with a smile
at what was, not at what is lost
When I say out loud, I want to get out of this
I wonder is there anything I'm going to
miss
Third Eye Blind