She's The Softest Sound In London

Can't you see the sky is falling, as these porcelain clouds dismantle into shards of our affection, and raining our secret scandal? With a photo inside the cover of her bible, of her lover, she talks to God and not her parents. I'm so in love with her appearance.

Ooh La La, when she holds my hand I can't seem to catch my breath. I fall headfirst into the pavement, it feels like all my reason has left, and I couldn't tell her...

Can't you feel the tinge of sickness as it's seeping through your bloodstream? You're warm as breath in December, yet you remain so serene. I won't be home before I miss you; you're in my thoughts like a plague, a drug to my every function. Honey, you're a state of grace.

And I don't know why I would doubt you; nothing feels the same without you