Donuts In A Six Speed

How much time is too much time?
 When my island eyes fall right in stride
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 I can't make peace with what works
 I just grow tired of digging up dirt
 But you are the space between days
 And I pretend I can lead you some place
 But I'm not concerned with
 The existence of magic
 
 I need something concrete
 To make use of these new feet
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 A of little fingers singing for magnetic hands
 I just need a bit of space
 Too often I get caught up wishing for what was
 And running out of air
 Always tired, arms on fire
 I just can't catch a break
 My basic instincts are always changing
 Just enough to say
 "You can sing out loud without making a sound."
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 I could get comfortable with the existence of magic