There’s this inkling,
baffling to ink.
Faint, yet not kept unnoticed.
like a touch that wipes my tears,
like a tune that I tap my feet to,
an amity that I cherish.
I wonder, maybe joy;
maybe just your mere presence.
Qui n’avance pas, recule
Qui n’avance pas, recule
There’s this inkling,
baffling to ink.
Faint, yet not kept unnoticed.
like a touch that wipes my tears,
like a tune that I tap my feet to,
an amity that I cherish.
I wonder, maybe joy;
maybe just your mere presence.
T h i n k. 