Maybe it were those late night cigarettes, and the stars you put in my sky.
Our voices echoing through empty streets, so happy I could die.
Maybe it was the sound of your laughter, like the rain on a Sunday afternoon.
You were my infinite ocean with tides so high, the music to my monsoon.
Maybe it was the summer sun, warm coffee in winter time.
The lights were slowly fading away, and I lost what was mine.
