The sun that’s always just about to set The fog just can’t bring itself to lift A cold, wet mist across a field like a soft, dry blanket. The wind that whispers warmly as though the storms aren’t on their way. What keeps us? Why linger? Why is it so hard to look away? And to think! I’d have never known how beautiful a sunset it really was. If I hadn’t turned around to watch it glowing across your face.