A Perfect Indian is he
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Remembering him life is sweet
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Like a weeping willow
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His face on my pillow
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Comes to me still in my dreams
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And there I saw a young baby
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A beautiful daughter was she
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A face from a painting
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Red cheeks and teeth aching
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Her eyes like a wild Irish sea
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On a table in her yellow dress
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For a photograph feigned happiness
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Why in my life is that the only time
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That any of you will smile at me
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I'm sailing on this terrible ocean
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I've come for my self to retrieve
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Too long have I been feeling like Lir's children
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And there's only one way to be free
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He's shy and he speaks quietly
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He's gentle and he seems to me
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Like the elf-arrow
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His face worn and harrowed
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Is he a daydreamer like me
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I'm sailing on this terrible ocean
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I've come for my self to retrieve
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Too long have I been feeling like Lir's children
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And there's only one way to be free
|
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A Perfect Indian
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| Sinead O'Connor |
