Woorden:
Weaver At The Loom

but well past noon, they weaken die and fade. But there's many perspective buds still clinging to the vine, waiting in patience to show their glory at

The air is good here, So I'll breathe in deeply, Then release all that I hold inside. My lungs are gilded gold, But I know how the time may go Before

The air is good here, So I'll breathe in deeply, Then release all that I hold inside. My lungs are gilded gold, But I know how the time may go Before

early but well past noon, they weaken die and fade. But there's many perspective buds still clinging to the vine, waiting in patience to show their glory at

Call me a coward, it's so fitting. I flee from open doors. They are creaking, cracking open, and I will never escape them all. I will proceed in fear