Your fascination with Audrey Hepburn carried you away. It was on a Sunday, we went to see Roman Holiday. You were (back to waiting? I honestly can't
Unfortunate ending (4th of December) Sandpapered room (Tired from the travel) Forces unending, You said you would believe In my foreign years I try
blanco Winter was our killer, everywhere so long and lovely Head for the comfort of your comfort I don't believe I still believe you Held for the last
I thought that you knew her I thought that you cared But what am I to do At four in the morning With her back against us all Running out of runarounds
Contact was questioned from the boulevard. Head colds in frozen weeks of summer holds. I'm fine, I'm fine I'm waiting on the line. We sent ourselves
Only seven days Don't paint by numbers Paint in (?) by (?) Don't face the mirror, catch the cold For today I should have followed suit For tomorrow never