Denison Witmer
Denison Witmer
Denison Witmer
Denison Witmer
Denison Witmer
Denison Witmer
Denison Witmer
Denison Witmer
Denison Witmer
Denison Witmer
Denison Witmer
Denison Witmer
Now, there is a voice inside the air
Words come down
They haunt me
Hands move from a small back onto
A collarbone is bending
From the bed at night I called you
All the wrongs went right
We both knew
Should I
Lose my way
Through the streets
Of my city
My soul
Searches everywhere for you
Every close
And alley Garden of my bride
Pomegranate eyes
Blossoms in the vines
My city
Sea salt in the wine
Day breathes in and sighs
Every mountain high
And valley
From the bed at night I called you
All the wrongs went right
I showed you
Show me, show me...