Irish Song

If all the streets were water
I’ll sail down the rivers
Under the the sheet of flowers
I rest my head on her
Whatever keeps me going
Is stuck inside a dream,
From what I see.
In Los Angeles,
The farther it hurts.
And the last hit breathes?
The old, I do admire
And where it might have been
For you are not allowed to tell me that I’ve sinned
I’m looking for the good time
To say that I have risen from what I’ve seen
In Lost Angeles,
The farther it hurts
And the last hit breathes?
All of the weight in the wide hist? of clouds
? away,
turning inside out
There is a feeling that is swallowing
My home every time that I lie in your bed
Don’t know what is coming, didn’t ask for a thing
Let it go,
I’m here with you
And please do not wait.
To remind me?
If all the streets were water
I’ll sail down the rivers
Under the the sheet of flowers
I rest my head on her
Whatever keeps me going
Is stuck inside a dream,
From what I see.
In Los Angeles