Diana Lawrence

Satellite

He calls me when he doesn’t know how to make it through the day.
He calls me when he doesn’t know how to say what he needs to say.
I tell him the things I should not, cause I know he’ll understand.

And I still love him.
I still love him.
I’m a satellite.

He looks at me like I was born on a planet far away.
He looks at me like he was born on that planet on the same day.
I look at his face and I’m home, but you can’t go home again.

And he still loves me.
He still loves me.
He’s a satellite.

And I can hear him across the universe,
and I can see him across the universe,
and I can feel him across the universe
but I am always across the universe.

We’re spinning in circles around something we can hardly see.
We’re spinning in circles around dying light and ancient energy.
And I’m sending my S.O.S to my planet far away:

Tell me why do I still love him?
Why do I still love him?
Why this satellite?
Why this satellite?