death is February/
the after-noon sun,
all fire and curves,
battles tall grass
and mourning seems far,
years behind it seems.
but cold wind lingers
on tattered caps/
Came back for you, honey.
death is February/
the after-noon sun,
all fire and curves,
battles tall grass
and mourning seems far,
years behind it seems.
but cold wind lingers
on tattered caps/