.To watch crippled hands create a fire, to sketch an arrow, to burn beside her. The blood of pattern, the sound of eggs drop, our lips of old, oh how these robust hips burn..
LyricsHave you been looking for lyrics of your favorite song, too long? Lyrics has got them all listed out for you by your favorite songwriters, artists neatly arranged by albums you love. Simply,Choose an album, artist or lyricist and start discovering lyrics of your favorite songs.
Allow To View All Exclusive Content & Notifications 🔔