I had two men in my phone, in my head, in my hands. But (always) only one Irish lad in my heart. He crashed violently to the earth, he fell (finally) to where he belongs. And he became that broken dream, all those wishful thinkings of days and nights in passing. He became a man of the past, without the golden shimmer, that blaze that kept him alive all those minutes and seconds and hours that turned into seasons.
I was wrong, you were right. It's time to let go.
The Civil Wars – Poison & Wine
Inga kommentarer:
Skicka en kommentar