Her love was like the stones,
wrapped in broken silver threads,
forever forgotten on my shelves,
dust covered near my bed,
just close enough to see them there,
with dead flowers she had picked,
just alibis, bout where she'd gone, and where she'd been,
I dont think she ever knew,
why I loved where those flowers grew,
before she left me with,
her broken stones wrapped in gild,
next to a bottle of my london gin,
that had left me feeling too far gone again,
I was just another patch of sand,
for her to find her treasures in,
she used braided silver to hold me with,
long enough to say she did,
and the gin's got me sayin,
why did I let her in,
I had enough jagged stones,
in my heart before she walked in,
and plenty of glimmering silver tears,
to wrap them in...
