you're the only shape i'll pray to.
dear diary,
san diego has been invaded by a butterfly army. it's the most beautiful occupation ever.
everything is lovely and in bloom. i can't even find words for how good it feels.
a lot of people died yesterday, and more will die in days to come, but i can't honestly say that's what's on my mind.
i am thoroughly uninteresting when i'm happy, so, for once, i'm going to keep my mouth shut. and no, that's not an april fool's day joke.
love and other perishables,
erin
daily reading of the lyrical gospel: who's seen jezebel? she was born to be the woman i would know and hold like a breeze half as tight as both eyes closed. who's seen jezebel? she went walking where the cedars line the road, her blouse on the ground where the dogs were hungry, roaming, saying, "wait. we swear we'll love you more and wholly, jezebel. it's we, we that you are for only." who's seen jezebel? she was born to be the woman we could blame. make me a beast half as brave. i'd be the same. who's seen jezebel? she was gone before i ever got to say, "lay here, my love. you're the only shape i'll pray to, jezebel." who's seen jezebel? will the mountain last as long as i can wait, wait like the dawn, how it aches to meet the day? who's seen jezebel? she was certainly the spark for all i've done. the window was wide. she could see the dogs come running, saying, "wait. we swear we'll love you more and wholly, jezebel. it's we, we that you are for only." (iron and wine- jezebel)
there is light in my lady’s house, and there’s none but some falling rain. this like a spoken word. she is more than her thousand names. no hands are half as gentle or firm as they like to be. thank god you see me the way you do, strange as you are to me. it is good in my lady's house, and the shape that her body makes. love is a fragile word in the air on the wrinkly lane. no hands are half as gentle or firm as they like to be. thank god you see me the way you do, strange as you are to me. (iron and wine- in my lady's house)
san diego has been invaded by a butterfly army. it's the most beautiful occupation ever.
everything is lovely and in bloom. i can't even find words for how good it feels.
a lot of people died yesterday, and more will die in days to come, but i can't honestly say that's what's on my mind.
i am thoroughly uninteresting when i'm happy, so, for once, i'm going to keep my mouth shut. and no, that's not an april fool's day joke.
love and other perishables,
erin
daily reading of the lyrical gospel: who's seen jezebel? she was born to be the woman i would know and hold like a breeze half as tight as both eyes closed. who's seen jezebel? she went walking where the cedars line the road, her blouse on the ground where the dogs were hungry, roaming, saying, "wait. we swear we'll love you more and wholly, jezebel. it's we, we that you are for only." who's seen jezebel? she was born to be the woman we could blame. make me a beast half as brave. i'd be the same. who's seen jezebel? she was gone before i ever got to say, "lay here, my love. you're the only shape i'll pray to, jezebel." who's seen jezebel? will the mountain last as long as i can wait, wait like the dawn, how it aches to meet the day? who's seen jezebel? she was certainly the spark for all i've done. the window was wide. she could see the dogs come running, saying, "wait. we swear we'll love you more and wholly, jezebel. it's we, we that you are for only." (iron and wine- jezebel)
there is light in my lady’s house, and there’s none but some falling rain. this like a spoken word. she is more than her thousand names. no hands are half as gentle or firm as they like to be. thank god you see me the way you do, strange as you are to me. it is good in my lady's house, and the shape that her body makes. love is a fragile word in the air on the wrinkly lane. no hands are half as gentle or firm as they like to be. thank god you see me the way you do, strange as you are to me. (iron and wine- in my lady's house)