And there's blood on her hands There's death in her hair
When you've seen through the mirror Or make a return to straight lines Well they say that in time
From the place she was born Now she spends all her days Drifts like foam on the seas And the pain in her chest Brings her down to her knees
When you've seen through the mirror Or make a return to straight lines Well they say that in time
Soon I'll be under the earth More from Joanna Mcmeikan