[his voice join's Orpheus's then, now shaky, but trying to steady, clinging to that comfort, that hope for something better, for freedom-]
The piano is not firewood yet But you help my heart 'fore it gathers regret Someday we'll wake up and finally escape And we'll go to our place in the sun
no subject
The piano is not firewood yet
But you help my heart
'fore it gathers regret
Someday we'll wake up and finally escape
And we'll go to our place in the sun