Three on a Match

Little woken warmth

The only thing I loved

Now a suffocated soul

Its mother’s makeup runs

And rinses out the pores

Rings the color from her hair

For what we did my love I'm sorry

And who the cloth has wound was wound alone

For what we've done my love I’m sorry

And who the cloth has wound was wound alone

It's mother crosses heart

She’s damned by her own milk

With unbroken water still

For what we did my love I’m sorry

And for who the cloth was wound was wound alone

For what we've done my love I'm sorry

And who the cloth has wound was wound alone

When it's three on a match

The worst are always left

I'm survived by the weight of my own sins

When it's three on a match

The Lord won't let me in

I'm survived by the weight of my own sins

The cypress came up to my knees in May

And woken warmth grew right beside my leg