Из альбома: Types of Wood
The salt-sprinkling sky, it falls white in your eyes.
Like the feathers from pillows surround us in the morning.
Like the dust in a room collecting pieces of you.
And holding to yourself, you're speaking to no one else.
Mixed language on me...
You brighten up the day, a secret that's safe.
The meaning of life caresses the light.
Like the shoe that won't fit, this place in you.
Your hair looks nice when it doesn't cover your eyes.
Mixed language on me...