My eyes are a baptism. Oh I am filth. And sing her into my thighs, oh phantom elusive thing. One that can never be known, either all drunk with the world at her feet or sober with no place to go. We could go, we can travel round fading farther from me, with your face in my window call. When will you weep for me, sweet willow? It's ok to be angry but not to hurt me. Your happiness, yes, yes, yes... darling, darling...

All flowers in time bend towards the sun. I know you say that there's no-one for you but here is one. 

~ Jeff Buckley