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
 [bad word] from another place in my chest, yes
Golden brown and wooden burled
Till we have faces in this world
An' if I hear and do not do, how can I look after you

Every white bird, at the top of your voice
This days tear, watch [bad word] 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
Oh yes, and so are you in an always way
Bound Woven Hand to stay

Every white bird, at the top of your voice
This days tear, watch [bad word] She never grows, faint in the try
Distant and blurred to my swing eye

Every white bird, at the top of your voice
This days tear, watch [bad word] She never grows, faint in the try
Distant and blurred to my swing eye, to my swing eye