what about the hours i spent devising the tales i told my fiction just to balance out the way that your arms can pull.
if my love was a sailor he'd use his boat for ill to sail beyond the reach of the one who loves him still.
what of the control it takes to hold it behind my eyes to stop the rushing water when the river's too weak to try.
if my love was a sailor he'd use his boat for ill to sail beyond the reach of the one who loves him still.
