Underwater

If it is your time to breathe, I don’t mind. Take a breath from my lungs. Conversations under water, with no air to breathe, tend to be so sincere. I don’t mind: anything to let you live a little longer makes me happy. I don’t mind: anything to let you live a little longer makes me happy. I don’t mind: anything to let you live a little longer. If you save yourself, you can have my favorite teddy bear. Now take my air. In a last kiss I pass oxygen. There’s not enough for both of us to survive. I don’t mind: anything to let you live a little longer makes me happy. I don’t mind: anything to let you live a little longer makes me happy. I don’t mind: anything to let you live a little longer. Soon I’ll have wings, and I will watch you from the sky. I won’t deny: the color blue is your true color. But, love, I beg of you to push as hard as you can try. For you and I, you break the surface of that water! How unfair: you refused. You used your last bit of strength to push me out. And now my mouth is full of air. Still tastes like you, smells like you, feels like you. And what am I to do with my acquired life, when you chose anything to let me live a little longer. I can see, you’ve got wings. Flying up above you’re really happy, but you just forgot to tell me: how am I supposed to ever live without you?