Amongst the books, an angel i've not met
And time hasn't touched her yet
From a to m to z she swans, as if avoiding bed
Pigtails instead of wings
I strung her harp with my heart strings
And i would ask this spring for her
If i knew what the right words were
And time hasn't touched her yet
From a to m to z she swans, as if avoiding bed
Pigtails instead of wings
I strung her harp with my heart strings
And i would ask this spring for her
If i knew what the right words were
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Discografia
Writers Without Homes