He presses my borders,
would I die for him yet?
stick my thumb,
then my head,
to the middle of the road.
He is bursting to go;
has a wanderlust heart,
but I am a gypsy,
my road is the land and a guitar.
he is empty of fear, like wind.
his dreams are spiraling
into daring that our city’s not enough.
I can’t follow blind faith in a hungry fate
just by changing perspective
I’m not ready to risk or to lose,
yet I know I will acompany you
through mountains and seas of jungle trees,
love is swallowing every fear.