Music › In My Mind › Cat Song
A head filled with words, a hurting skin. And underneath, this bleeding heart. Revolting stomach and cold feet. There is someone creeping up my back. Shivering hands, whistling ghosts, behind a Spanish house. He's got hands to stroke cats. Lips made of red wine and amber with nautical eyes. And his skin is a baby feather. He isn't as sick as I am. Shivering hands, whistling ghosts, behind a Spanish house.
