If I could think I'm in Skye today, crossing the sea like a bird. Reaching and dancing in the air in Portree. And thinking I'm just free to leave as soon as I want.
Well, I know I'd never leave again and I'll stay there: breathing smells, sounds and colours. Waiting for the night and still thinking: I must go. And yet staying there, breathing the darkness and whisky 'til the morning. And thinking: I can't leave so early, must wait for noon.
I'm in Skye and I'm swimming in hope.
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