The freedom of the birds and the whispy summer clouds are what we dream of now Spring was quietly stolen our liberties curtailed homes were a prison...
We are prisoners of your words catchy, punchy, lethal to us Daily you have an advantage weekly you kill us slowly We are prisoners of your words our...
I’ve got to carry on mum’s gone rudderles with no guide I’ve got to carry on mum’s gone who knew of these feelings Of you and me all around eyes shut...