see the sky is no man's land
a darkened plume to stay
hope here needs a humble hand
not a fox found in your place
black flies on the windowsill
that we are
that we are
that we are to hold
comfort came against my will
and every story must grow old
and I don't wanna beg your pardon
and I don't wanna ask you why
but if i was to go my own way
would i have to pass you by?
-
No comments:
Post a Comment