The four of you walk on high
Up to the place where the crowds will find themselves drowned
In sunlight
Up to the state of temperate haze that lives alongside this night
Along side romantic youth
Up to the garden that the last of us flee to
The four of you have this night,
The heat, the stars, the nats you swat on your bare arms
Your past lives
One year to the day, you were strangers in each others eyes
Now the stories told are raw,
Like open wounds they spill and crawl
The four of you will survive
Up through the shit you have to filter through to exist
You will rise
Up through this earthly noise you will bow your head and you’ll climb
We are the romantic youth,
And this is the garden that the last of us flee to.
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