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• Artiste: Whitley
• Titre: White Feathers, Strange Sights
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A feather fell on the ground in front of me, The evening sun, it crept on in, Blue turned to black and the stars shone endlessly; All of love isn't free. Holding my hand like a script in a picture, and holding my wrist like you're choking death, The look in your eye speaks like ages of life; All of love isn't free. I couldn't see why you ran from me, I keep running it back, I keep playing it back, In a moment I see how it came to be... There are stranger ways to fall from grace, And harder ways to see your face, If I will not be what fear makes me; Love will set me free. (A white feather fell)