Like ice on plum, like salt on my wound
You are necessary
Your face like a Saturday, everyday like spiring
Hope is necessary
If that morning wind blow I need catch your heart
You must come and land on in the middle of the my soul
It's being when you're sick of
It's being when you want
It's being from her air
And what's more it's being all
I become words why You cut with sweet with honey
I become road why you come with red scurf
If I wait in here I'm not go down
I'm not go up but I become nothing