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Week Six

from India Ink by Brown Widow

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lyrics

Broke pocket and bus rides
Salty tongue and the sweet food
Blurred nights in your friend´s barn
Hand of the grave on your sleeve
Cripple talk of the forlorn
Feel the staple of the scorn
Eyes pressed on the burning coals
Pining for your holy water to soothe the soul
Cynical stare of my mother
Steal away my dreams, she´s hungry
Seats warmed up in this city
Gnawing your legs to never leave

Turning your head, sleepy bear in bed
Your birthmarks match up with the ceiling, the morning next

Fever leaking happiness
Crawling up your spine for you to feel
I´m sweating the saints of last night
My heart´s pumping a much softer melody
My sister´s in her bedroom
The TV´s whispering for her soul
Fingers groping from the grotto
Calling requests from the corridor
Some stay to feel free
Some stay because they don´t know how to leave

Turning your head, sleepy bear in bed
Your birthmarks match up with the ceiling, the morning next x2

Running home again
What do you know, wind under your skin
Hearing it again, whispers in your ear
From latter years
And oh, sweet memories
Burning through your throat
And I hear people talking about love less, everyday
What do you say
The thing ain´t got two legs, a tongue to speak for itself
We´re all blind as bats
And we can´t start a fire without raising hell
With a golden egg under your feet
There´s no crack to be seen
Hold my hand and I´ll whisk you away, whoa
Hold my hand and we´re six feet in the burden land, whoa

credits

from India Ink, released January 1, 2016

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Brown Widow Asheville, North Carolina

beautiful babe, I love you

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