Blue, and sitting.
The harmonica sounds
like my mother.
I need my guitar
to get me out of here.
The world is strange.
I'm afraid.
The harmonica sounds
like my mother
crying because she's telling
the truth,
that she's afraid.
That the world is strange.
That only my guitar
can get me out of here.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 11:52 PM UTC
Blue, and sitting.
The harmonica sounds
like my mother.
I need my guitar
to get me out of here.
The world is strange.
I'm afraid.
The harmonica sounds
like my mother
crying because she's telling
the truth,
that she's afraid.
That the world is strange.
That only my guitar
can get me out of here.
