Cover

It'd be my favourite time of the year and

He'd be dressed in his January-best.

We would be old enough to pick any pretty restaurant

we liked and I would have my hair tied back
in that old messy pony, the hazy smell of a winter-night
lingering around my wrist.

He would lean over and ask me something, I would

look up and say something nice.
So far it'd be all-things-my-favourite,
so far

he'd get everything right.

Then when the music starts to waft down
the shadow-lit hall,
I would not bother correcting him.

Perhaps I would have, had I remembered to record your low-sung cover
from all those winters back.

'...She can't remember the time, when she felt needed/ 

if love was red, she was colour blind...'


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HCm6gRHINqA