StitchCraft

Now the wine is drunk, and the fabric’s on the floor
And the baby cries, and what’s left of me is sore
Fingertips tracing the lines of the upholstery’s pattered shell
My hands see for my eyes,, and the stitches run through me,
The stitches run through me, The strings cut and pull at my will

Now the wine is drunk, they begin to feel the heat
Out the candle blows, cold air whispers from the street
Open windows lights shine, as the stars they close their eyes
Cars passing the time, we grow blind,
To the paths that are chosen the fingers are frozen
Follow my lead, We’ll be fine.

Now the wine is drunk, and the fabric’s on the floor
And the baby cries, and what’s left of me is sore
Fingertips tracing the lines of the upholstery’s pattered shell
(Now the wine is drunk, and the fabric’s on the floor)
My hands see for my eyes,, and the stitches run through me,
(And the baby cries, and what’s left of me is sore)
The stitches run through me, The strings cut and pull at my will