To me it always seemed like every shooting star
Found its way, and re-emerged in the darkness of his eyes
On the best of his days, he shone brighter than the sun
On the bluest of lows, like the moon he would reflect
Only the light others would care to cast
I always wondered how this came to be
For the man who seemed to have the Milky Way
Wrapped so tenderly around his soul
Until I finally realised that it was happiness
That slipped like sunspots through his fingers
As unreachable as the stars he wished upon
