The frozen stars drift across a landlocked sky.
I feel free with your chains around my wrists.
The blood that stains them is wine, and believe me when I say God himself couldn't make a berry this sweet.
I know you'll tell me what she looked like, and I know you'll tell me what new bruises have used her skin as canvas.
Don't let me go.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 3:06 AM UTC
The frozen stars drift across a landlocked sky.
I feel free with your chains around my wrists.
The blood that stains them is wine, and believe me when I say God himself couldn't make a berry this sweet.
I know you'll tell me what she looked like, and I know you'll tell me what new bruises have used her skin as canvas.
Don't let me go.