I dreamt of a Russian doll bride Who spawn on the points of the feet like a child But I had the terminal pride of an older man As it passed over a cross on a post But the angle decends in the shape of a crow And buries its beak in our unfused bones like its okay Like a moth goes sad and soft in the streetlights umbilical glow It was love that laid us lowTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.