British Theatre
Gold Bruise
The boy that shot the bullet decked in yellow goldpulled out of the river angel’s hair for ropetried and sold on this edited talethe sound that’s in sea shells all of it saved in takesbroadened walls behind the spiesall the strangers battle criesare back to front, wrong to rightnothing cradles you through all your crimesyou should be calling time and bursting bubblesbut after all this time you couldn’t care lesshangs on a wire inside her lives in golden grasslonger laughslet down your haira blessed curse can’t be worseI’ll wear it well, my golden bruiseall in strideit’s all frustrating youall these steps are back to front, wrong to rightnothing cradles youall this time you should’ve calledyou should be calling time and bursting bubblesif after all this time you couldn’t care less.
From Letras Mania