titre → We can build a tree house in the pine trees. We can keep our secrets buried underneath. Wild flowers crash between your fingers. Clinging to the wild things that raised us. Compass points you home, calling out from the east. Compass points you anywhere. Closer to me. If we make it out alive from the depths of the sea. Compass points you anywhere. Closer to me. Where you are, I will be. Miles high, in the deep. Where you are, I will be. Anywhere, in between.