I’d love to live in a place above the clatter.
And indulge in glamorous chatter.
I’d like to cover up with exotic fabric.
And employ reserved tactics.
I have a lust for summer breeze, i have a holiday mind.
Maybe I’m clinging to broken seams, maybe I’m one of a kind.
I can’t tell if this is fates withered hand.
And somewhere beneath the broken trees, i have a paradise land.