Sanoja: Milow. Maybe Next Year. Until The Morning Comes.

:
Your clothes spread out on the floor
just like it was before
a homerun is a hit I'll never score
the hours before the break of dawn
are as fragile as a song
and can go on and on and on and on and on

we wait for the light
to break through the summer night
I hope I run into you tomorrow
and I hope you will talk to me until
the morning comes until the morning comes

looking for my clothes on the floor
I gently close the door
in times like these you're all I'm looking for
I swear to God I know that I
want to struggle to get by
the fact that all the good things someday die
because all the good things someday die