395px

Garden

josephine illingworth

Ooh, it's the music of fate
Ooh, it's the patterns we make
Mother
Mother

Ooh, and they're making us paint all the things that we did
On the walls with red milk
Mother
Mother
Mother

And so we find the heart
The place where it all started
And somewhere in that dark
Her eyes are glowing starkly

Mother
Mother
Mother
And we parted the leaves and found her there
Woven in the grasses, silken fair
And she opened one eye and saw us there
And said this is the start of everywhere

Ooh, if you bruise you will make it
Ooh, but my fingers are shaking
Mother
Mother
Mother

And she meets us in the dark
All steaming and bored
And she pulls us all apart
To make trees with our arms
Mother
Mother
Mother
Mother

Mother
Mother
Mother
Mother

So if you cut out your tongue you'll see her there
Weaving in the garden with your hair
And the water you come before it's fair
Streaming through the window everywhere

Escrita por: Josephine Illingworth