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these thoughts of you they are a gift the smell of you on the winds due shift behind a chosen curtain |
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I'm set adrift the talk of you still on my lips you come from another place in my chest golden brown and wooden burled till we have faces in this world an if |
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I hear an do not do how can |
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I look after you every white bird at the top of your voice this days tear watch me run she never grows faint in the try distant and blurred to my swing eye these thoughts of you are the dreams that |
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I have missed the touch of you |
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I hear I hear o yes and so are you in an always way bound wovenhand to stay every white bird at the top of your voice this days tear watch me run she never grows faint in the try distant and blurred to my swing eye |
