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