I will accept your blinding
The butterflies that come to rest
But I will not accept your reckless
Washing down the valley side
Crevices deepending
As years transcending
This memory I should have discarded
When the water ran dry.
I will accept your blinding
The butterflies that come to rest
But I will not accept your reckless
Washing down the valley side
Crevices deepending
As years transcending
This memory I should have discarded
When the water ran dry.