I’m spinning yarn and I brought a needle and a chart for you to make a woollen heart that I’ll pull apart, ‘cause I’m caught upon a nail and I’m unravelling.
Two minutes sleep in the company I love to keep is never long enough for me, but without air, or as an interval to hold a stare: it’s agony.
If I’m overcast grey, it’s just a windy old day and these sad sewn eyes conspiring against me. You must forget me now and my sad sewn eyes that you attached for me. Let your steady hands ignore me slipping from your grasp.
You can cut those threads, but what would be left without them?
So I fell for those pedals on the last chord, they whisper in the dark like children passing a secret that you weren’t meant to hear. “If you were awake would you stop me and sing to me quite softly? Or would you cast me off?”
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