38″Blake: (singing softly) I woke up to a dying flame Sitting in its crackling grave Dance around in your new skin breathe in deep, but breath is thin When oh when will morning come?The moon she stood, suitcase in hand Stuck between her spinning plans They say she smiles as you rest and turns the lights on from the WestWhen oh when will morning come Then our dreams dripped away down the mountain swelling light sour bones steady counting the time, we rose, for life, for morning our minds, held close
Comments
0No comments yet.