Siobhan

A crescent moon at Winter, I know what is to love, but always be a sinner, surrounded by icy streets, I turn my face towards, the freezing gentle sea, if the cold light kills us, my time is one of trouble, dance to different drummers, are they out of reach, a friend holds a dove, no matter what I preach, across the dun lit hills, my shadow's like a moth, I ascend the rills, a Catholic flame and keeper, my Ma pines for summer, but cannot get the reason, why I act so tough.