Richard Thompson. Front Parlour Ballads. Cressida. Zeneszám

Love that holds its breath for fear
Of scaring love away
I rush my lines
I care too deeply
O will she keep me
For idle games

I raise my eyes to see her there
Shining in a daydream
I raise my eyes
I see too much
I know her touch
What her touch would mean

I stare into
I stare into
The dying flames