Tiny Story - Weak
I can picture the babies we will never raise together
Their olive skin and their blue-green eyes
The sand stuck between their toes at sunset
The way they cling to you like wet cloth
Too scared to tell you yes; too enchanted to forget
Too weak to hurt him to save myself.
Their olive skin and their blue-green eyes
The sand stuck between their toes at sunset
The way they cling to you like wet cloth
Too scared to tell you yes; too enchanted to forget
Too weak to hurt him to save myself.
