Print

There is no margin of error here Between the linen that lays inline with your eyelash And for the first time I fear the warning That the wind sounds in sync via silence There is no margin of error here Between the linen that lays inline with you Release and stay on target To find the error in follow through There is hope between the knock and the strand If I can mock the love in your... (practiced hand) Your lips bring alive the tune of empty bowstrings Laden with the love of such a practiced hand Waiting with the hope to hear the arrows sing Waiting with the hope that we're coming back for more Make a sound that's worth its meaning And make us proud if that's what you live for How those lips run oh so smooth and How they've taken us nowhere You could split these arrows all you want With the pride of a marksman And strike upon the narrows, but for what? If they are not your target From Letras Mania