below a surface there I weep
the willow bellows to make it known
my lips spit smiles at the sun
and keep within and keep withheld
for no matter how much I drain these eyes
the birds still sing when the willows dead.
below a surface there I weep
the willow bellows to make it known
my lips spit smiles at the sun
and keep within and keep withheld
for no matter how much I drain these eyes
the birds still sing when the willows dead.
