Find comfort in your eyes,
Lit a candle not to ride so lonely,
I’ll come for you right on time.
For a second in the gale,
Pull a rope so not to cry,
With the falling mollyhawks in my sight.
Mourning of my days,
Rarely are the same,
See the colours of the pouring rain.
In a forest, roads are not to blame.
Better see her by the house,
Not to peer into the dark and gooey shores,
I’ll pick a stone, right on time.
On a boring Easter day,
Bring a bait to help my dad,
Get rid of all the fishes uptide.
Mourning of my days,
Rarely are the same.
See the colours of the pouring rain,
In a forest, roads are not to blame.
Mourning of my days,
on a lonely day.
Cracking in my brain.
Roads are here to stay
Mourning of my days,
on a lonely day.
Cracking in my brain.
Roads are here to stay just for the…
Mourning of my days
Rarely are the same
See the colours of the pouring rain,
In a forest roads are not to blame.
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