Camphor
Castaway
My little trouble is always in control
A head full of poppies and tangles grow
A wicked little angle, a compass and a smile
Nailed my shadow to the wall
It was my funeral, your trial
A castaway girl
In a pirated world
A scar and a curse from her mouth to her wrist
I fell for a castaway kiss
My little trouble is always in control
Eyes of tiny diamons, prisoners of coal
Call me a heathen with strings that stop and start
Puts a crack in my perceptions
Pulls a sober world apart
A castaway pearl
In a pirated world
A scar and a curse from her mouth to her wrist
I fell for a castaway kiss
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