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Say now, it's time.
Say now: did I say Goodbye?
And then it hits:
What's "Time"? We're just here alive.

Chant from the balcony,
Though this is not Rome.
Red paintings on the floor,
Trying to grow old.

Dance through the Spring storm,
Let it wash off our mistakes.
Dance through the Spring storm,
Let it wash off our mistakes.

Scrap these words
And heal in silence
And scrap these words
And try a bit harder.

Is this the best time?
Will we rejoice this?
Can we forget this?
How can we fold this?

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