Louisa

We drag missals to your name, orange gold in buckets, celebrate your fame, even as you spit and caw, loose as a railway cutting, your scars threaten us all, nights of whisky and pain, sometimes feel you won't recover, day time isn't your game, the scent of your draw, by gas lit winter troubles, spins down a broken wall, retreating from place to place, why you say fuck it, you aggregate this shame, church can be a lonely place, artists dream of lovers, blue notes with a heavens grace, only fills the cover. .