A Perfect Indian - Sinead O'Connor

A Perfect Indian is he

Remembering him life is sweet

Like a weeping willow

His face on my pillow

Comes to me still in my dreams

And there I saw a young baby

A beautiful daughter was she

A face from a painting

Red cheeks and teeth aching

Her eyes like a wild Irish sea

On a table in her yellow dress

For a photograph feigned happiness

Why in my life is that the only time

That any of you will smile at me

I’m sailing on this terrible ocean

I’ve come for my self to retrieve

Too long have I been feeling like Lir’s children

And there’s only one way to be free

He’s shy and he speaks quietly

He’s gentle and he seems to me

Like the elf-arrow

His face worn and harrowed

Is he a daydreamer like me

I’m sailing on this terrible ocean

I’ve come for my self to retrieve

Too long have I been feeling like Lir’s children

And there’s only one way to be free