Woorden: The Dear Hunter. His Hands Matched His Tongue.

A long walk home, riddled with regret.

Uncommonly comfortable, but still I believe that in time I'll see just whats been weighing down on me.

An unearthy void, collapsed, exposing what was trapped, to release this serendipitous dissent.

The smell of smoke, the evening sky was bruised. Belated conversation, saturate anticipation for the answers that simply wont come, but not I, I wont ask. Forget my place amongst the grass. The leaves and the trees remember me and in my na?vety it might be seen; the pale has leaks, and even if you put all your water into it, you end up with nothing left to drink. The well has gone dry and I with it.

Oh, someday she'll be gone.
Oh, someday she'll be gone.
Oh, someday she'll be gone.
Oh, someday she'll be gone.

We'll still have a song to sing,
We'll still have a song to sing,
We'll still have a song to sing,
We'll still have a song to sing.

Sing softly, bring it to the left,
Sing softly, bring it to the left,
Sing softly, bring it to the left,
Sing softly, bring it to the left.

Sing softly, sing it to the left,
Sing softly, sing it to the left,
Sing softly, bring it to the left
Sing softly, sing it to the left,
Sing softly, bring it to the left....

(Thanks to Abenadero for these lyrics)