Woorden: Nina Nastasia. The Blackened Air. Rosemary.

Rosemary, I've almost forgotten your name
The tears on my face, they don't burn quite the same
And I look in the mirror and your reflection's not there
Just the daughter of a man and a cold, hard stare

Rosemary, my desire to hold you is deep
And it keeps me from living and it keeps me from sleep
And my holding-on's so tight that my fingers might bleed
If I let go of you now, will you let go of me?