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• Artiste: Dean Fields
• Titre: Irish Bars
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I bleed my emotion through the push of a pen on the tear stained surface of your pale parchment skin, on the napkins of Irish bars while my pint glass is weeping. So, my words start to wander like the thoughts that ushered them. You won't go down without a fight. My failed defense lends its plight. But, this radio song says you'll be mine. In tomorrow's trenches you'll reside. Armed as bedside's angels, with desire comes despair. Up in arms in passion's throws, a memory dares compare. To silence a siren's song, I search for peace of mind through the luggage packed from a lover's past who occupies my meantime. You won't go down without a fight. My failed defense lends its plight. But, this radio song says you'll be mine. In tomorrow's trenches you'll reside.