Shattered in my mouth There are splinters in these words Thorns and roots and tangles I have spoken
Spitting out my teeth Into a little silver cup I wake up cold With eyes wide open
I remember climbing trees Vanishing behind the branches Cradled in the veil of make-believe
Or else I was shooting fish In a shallow fish pond As they glistened in the sun
It might be wrong It might be childhood
Summer sheets And dampened footfalls Cotton clinging to my skin
Kite strings And paper wings Missions to the moon
It might be wrong It might be wrong It might be wrong It might be childhoodTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.