I can't. We can't. Never.
I told him that. He tells me, "It's good for you, though." And I say, "No, never."
I don't know if he really heard.

Never. Never.

Along the staircase, I dream to hear you in a whisper quiet room.
Space for thinking, space to scream to.
But the echoes sound like you, not the stars at night in a pitch black sky.
I don't know; just wants to see you, but the time is right and it only flies.