You’re my winter queen that disappeared.
Your hands grew cold.
You ran a mile from my wings.
I still heard you had a full flown view.
With lots of time.
And a notebook full of the finest, creamy, rich girl parchment pages slowly filled with all your passing days…
Every sacred word… paints a picture.

Calculating Bimbo (Belle and Sebastian, Write about love, 2009)

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