You'll call and ask me to come, I'd come.
Your final order, one that I'd not be able to say no to, my absurd ego, my low faith, my lack of self control, none of it will hold me back from surrendering to your order that day.
There's a home that you built for me, for us, in secret place, that I assume. A melancholic wishful dream.
Will the roses of our home's garden bloom that day, when you'd tell them about my arrival?
Will the walls of our home sing in joy, when they'd see my soul coming towards them?
Will the curtains of our home swirl ecstatically, when they'll smell my soul?
Will you welcome me, hold me and give me glad tidings that day?
