If our orbits don't align
Again in this life, 
It's okay, I guess:

There are always shooting
Stars to call compasses,
There are other arms
To want, other arms to call home. 

Then I think about it all again, and 
I'm not sad anymore, for
There is always,
Always the next life. 

Always the next one,
The next one, and the next one, and the next one-