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Fionn Regan The End of History Black Water Child Down here underneath the microscope, it's hard to cope. don't hide your face in your hands, 'cause if your eyes play tricks, it's outta my control. it's gonna be a long cold winter. the skeletons of trees, my blackwater child if you don't love me, well, don't shove me out into the dark without a flashlight or a spark. any stitches cling like bitches to my arms for all my charms. it's gonna be a crooked little winter the skeletons of trees, my blackwater child she's walking home to the devil's flowers. the broken bones of heavy hours. we stayed out late, it's a lighthouse trait. and we'll take our time |
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