Jeff Buckley - In my arms | Текст песни

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• Jeff Buckley
• In my arms

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Slow birds
No breeze
Iron hearts
Rust in streams

Long march
Small crimes
Soft words
Whisper
It's time to come home - your eyes
To bring back - your charms
To sit real still
In my arms

Clocks tick
Trees pound
Lions roar
On empty streets

Long lists
In black and white
(s h h) red words
That read like the fourth of July
You're home
Uhuh, you're home, in my arms