White Bird - Wovenhand

These thoughts of you

They are a gift

The smell of you

On the winds due shift

Behind a chosen curtain

I’m set adrift

The talk of you still on my lips

You come from

Another place in my chest

Golden brown and wooden burled

Till we have faces in this world

An if I hear an do not do

How can I look after you

Every white bird

At the top of your voice

This days tear

Watch me run

She never grows

Faint in the try

Distant and blurred to my swing eye

These thoughts of you

Are the dreams that I have missed

The touch of you I hear

I hear

O yes and so are you

In an always way

Bound wovenhand

To stay

Every white bird

At the top of your voice

This days tear

Watch me run

She never grows

Faint in the try

Distant and blurred to my swing eye