In the spring, head in the sand
crossed the bridge, came upon a dying man
coffee cup, all washed up
here's my life, harmonica playing in Fife
In the winter, spent my days
walking coastal paths and crooked ways
choked in fog, soaked in rain
looking out for you, but turning blue
Turning blue, seeing it through
Everyone else seemed to know what to do
I spoke my mind but I was drunk and blind
so I'm still waiting for you, turning blue.
No comments:
Post a Comment