Diorama

A story’s ending is like a withered bark
No new born ground for pretending
Just a faithful start
In the middle of this symphony you might have lost your heart
Between the house of mockingbirds and the lake of starts

When you feel right at a place and the diorama fades
The sky is lost in space and every breath is hailed
When you feel calm in the wild and the fear leaves the night
We belong, we belong to ourselves
We belong, we belong to ourselves

It’s the curse of the worry blanked out during the run
Tackling us between the breathes
Spoiling your rest in the sun
The elms mark the horizon where no one sees a land
Wearing doubts like too tall clothes until the search ends