She is driftwood,
Porcelain branches entangle her.
Face down,
Her dress caught on the banks of the river,
Fingers dancing in the current.
She is a ghost,
With lungs full of water.
How could I have known?
Her heart was empty,
And she never planned on coming home.
Come home.
Come home to me.
Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa. | 