Whitley
White Feathers, Strange Sights
A feather fell on the ground in front of me,
The evening sun, it crept on in,
Blue turned to black and the stars shone endlessly;
All of love isn't free.
Holding my hand like a script in a picture,
and holding my wrist like you're choking death,
The look in your eye speaks like ages of life;
All of love isn't free.
I couldn't see why you ran from me,
I keep running it back, I keep playing it back,
In a moment I see how it came to be...
There are stranger ways to fall from grace,
And harder ways to see your face,
If I will not be what fear makes me;
Love will set me free.
(A white feather fell)
From Letras Mania