Springtime and the flowers welcome a change of the sun on a window box, well tended. But she changes with the seasons, winter to spring, becomes a stranger to her own shadow. Someone else. Summer and the cherry flowers bloom on branches like pink tears unfolding. The heart bush bleeds, the window box is home to a thin layer of dust, and she has changed once again. Who do you want to be today? This is who we are and who we are is who we want to be. If you want to be thunder then can I be your lightning? Fall now, and the flowers have shriveled. In a bed of dust on the window box, fallen leaves make their slumbers. But she is no longer there to view the change. She is a cigarette now, nicotine swirls of smoke, while winter approaches on speedy wings. The snow has buried everything now, but she doesn't realise - to busy in the hunt for the forgotten past but she cannot find herself buried under the powder. Change has lost her, forgotten behind. Who did she want to be today? She can't remember. Who do you want to be today? This is who we are and who we are is who we want to be. Well, I'd like to be lightning if you'll be my thunder. Who do you want to be today? Promise not to change if this is who we are and all we are is all we want to be. Is this all you are today.