Little woken warmth The only thing I loved Now a suffocated soul Its mother’s makeup runs and rinses out the pours Rings the color from her hair
For what we did my love I’m sorry And who the cloth has wound was wound alone For what we did my love I’m sorry And who the cloth has wound was wound alone
Its mother crosses heart She’s damned by her own milk With unbroken water still
For what we’ve did my love I’m sorry And for who the cloth was wound was wound alone For what we done my love I’m sorry And who the cloth has wound was wound alone
When it’s three on a match The worst are always left I’m survived by the weight of my own sins
When it’s three on a match The Lord won’t let me in I’m survived by the weight of my own sins
The cypress came up to my knees in May And woken warmth grew right beside my leg