Из альбома: Untended Stories
My landlady is the sea
She keeps me and rolls me to where there is joy
Unfairly we offer our hearts to her
She'll keep them
And chuck them and high huck them
Good luck to them
My girl is a jetplane at night
A hot concentration of fast moving light
I think that when I hold her in evening time
Perhaps that her love demands more time
That perhaps for her love I should count to three hundred
And cast off my own needs till that time
Perhaps in her eyes there is happiness
Perhaps in her heart is a restful content
Perhaps in her family there was a great lawfulness
A healthy old record of love not duress
But I have not paid her in kind
A keepsake here and one there
For my sake more than for hers