Quinn

To begin again, it's hardly right, past blown out on Gin, I've lost a few, given those nights, shown by airs of truth, now my voice is lame, before it gets tight, but not on your estate, don't make me stew, in this paradise, accept what's not refused, in my own secret way, I'll carry the light, kiss me quietly in lanes, where others have gone, without my fight, think there i'll blossom, make everyone say, she's doing alright, sings a lovely refrain, such a simple mite,