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Little woken warmth
The only thing I loved
Now a suffocated soul
Its motherâs makeup runs and rinses out the pores
Rings the color from her hair
For what we did my love Iâm sorry
And who the cloth has wound was wound alone
For what we've done my love Iâm sorry
And who the cloth has wound was wound alone
Its mother crosses heart
Sheâs damned by her own milk
With unbroken water still
For what weâve did my love Iâm sorry
And for who the cloth was wound was wound alone
For what we done my love Iâm sorry
And who the cloth has wound was wound alone
When itâs three on a match
The worst are always left
Iâm survived by the weight of my own sins
When itâs three on a match
The Lord wonât let me in
Iâm survived by the weight of my own sins
The cypress came up to my knees in May
And woken warmth grew right beside my leg