There's a ghost, ghost in the mezzanine And she's soaked, soaked in a glimmering Sort of bone Her bones and I'm blathering To count all her freckles, to touch her bare ankles The breath of the bread while it bakes How I ache, I ache in the pit of me I awake, awake with this fear in me How it makes, makes a fool out of me With its knife how it carves the seeds out of my heart For to plant in the soil for to feast You are sweet, sweet as a nectarine When you speak, speak softly and gracefullyTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
