Drifting - Sixpence None The Richer

Drifting away from you

Spinning down to the pinpoint drop of isolation

In a spell

Walking away from the fire

That keeps my heart

From turning ice

Golden feet grace the surface of the sea

Sinking deeper I view them from underneath

Flailing kicking as I head for the deep

I question a hypothetical lead supper

Oh God receive my outstretched hand

Will I inhale the blue

Spinning down upon the glass

A ghost towards realization of a cell

Enclosing the hauntings of a past

That blind the eyes

And rust the heart

So I fell

I need you to take my hand

And keep my heart from ice