Balancing on the wind Leaning on the cliff edge wind, in limbo He watched sand running through the fingers Of his left hand into the palm of his right He sees someone walking in a hot dry wasteland Young, hesitant steps Recognised her crooked fring and narrow eyes Threadbare, summer patterned, dirty cotton flowered dress Scratched ankles and nail bitten hands Wanted to touch her cool brown hair But she was gone... And his old tired face was as still as ever An aeroplane hummed high up in the sky Way up above the clouds
A green teapot, a pair of boots A broken pocket, watch and chain A born dead baby pig Lying, pure white... bloodless Soft and smooth as a gloved lady's hand A spinning wheel, a bill hook An umbrella, empty bottles, a tin bath A hat stand and a slate grey pill box hat Sailed past his grabbing hands And were gone... like the swallows
Stuttered words, stuttered words Voices asking questions he cannot hear Come and find us Step back or you'll fall But the aeroplane is humming so loud now Trying to cling to the summer cotton Light threadbare patterned sleeveless Flowered dirty carnation sunflower Sweatstained primrose threadbare Dirty disappearing decaying flowered Fading cotton forgotten fucking summer dress But it was gone... Gone like the swallowsTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
