La Petite Mort

The time of a breath cut
By a late summer evening
The angels left before
And their faces stained with white
I think it's too late
To confess that I'm hurting
To my dying heart
And my memories stained with white

If I'm lost, know that I'll be yours
And in the hollow of his arms, death will rock us
Because if I'm lost,
It's only to remain yours
And in the hollow of his arms, death will rock us

The rain runs down my temples
The thunder sings your descent
Nestled against my life
Your laughter echoes and then fades away
I think it's too late
To tell you that it hurts
My heart is not the same as before
Because it falls asleep so gently