You were gone and I was gone. And all of the flowers were dead and gone. And all of the things that I had. Were songs again. . Weaving the scent of the loss of your heart.
Winter was an island, child. Some of the friends you had been gone awhile. It's a dark twisted line across your sea and into the wild. . People are looking down you say.
I say to the day. We'll drop down to die. With fifty five falls. And seventy skies. . And I say to the day. Weigh this bag that I brang. With Mayflower May.
She'd know in her time. She was young, a year to die. She had gazed a mile. In the corner in the night. . And a man come to her. In the dead of old winter.
Photographs of your face. Against the wind, against the rain. I'm gonna burn them all. And bury your name. . All your damsels in the dark. And sea-shell branches in the park.
Take her to the river, call her a river-child. Take her to the forest, call her a little wild. Sell her to the gypsy for a jar of metal coins. Take her to the mountain and thrust yourself into her loins.
[Incomprehensible] I was brittle. Crushed and tore your name from leaf hearts. And blades of grass, they were lost in the haze. And it's funny, he still loves me.
Seven winter's past and gone. I once was young and I once was strong. Shall I be, I'll be, I'll be. . Six fine times I've felt my knees. Buckle to your sweet release.
If I call your name at midnight. You would not be there. If I call your name at midnight. Oh, you would not be there. . You said my name so sweetly. Oh, the one time that you called.