These Open Fields

Everyday you still come and visit me;

You're supposed to be resting.

It's in my head, but you're not where you're supposed to be

And you're unconfessing.

Anyway, I see you from afar,

But it's not really you.

From my shoes, it's not really so bizarre,

But the bases are true, the sky is still blue and I can't find a way to leave you.



In my sleep, I dream of these open fields,

So euphoric and peaceful.

When I wake, I pretend that this place is real,

But that way is ceaseful. (don't know how to spell this, but it means "it's a trap" or something like that)

I can pray for a way to alter time,

So I could absolve you.

From where I'm at it seems like it's such a crime,

But the bases are true, yours I cannot pursue and I can't find a way to leave you.