How much time is too much time? When my island eyes fall right in stride I can't make peace with what works I just grow tired of digging up dirt But you are the space between days And I pretend I can lead you some place But I'm not concerned with The existence of magic I need something concrete To make use of these new feet A of little fingers singing for magnetic hands I just need a bit of space Too often I get caught up wishing for what was And running out of air Always tired, arms on fire I just can't catch a break My basic instincts are always changing Just enough to say "You can sing out loud without making a sound." I could get comfortable with the existence of magic