Авторы: Peter Hammill
Slow motion in the quiet of your room: So potent is the smell of her perfume that you think she's eternal that you think she's everything -but no-one knows what she is.... Repentance for all you should have said- Her entrance seems to raise you from the dead and you think she's really with you and you think she'll always stay. always ready to forgive you, always ready to grant you her mercy -but in her own way. When she comes she'll be a stranger; Struck dumb you'll try to protest As the drum beats out the danger, Too late-you should have noticed That the lady with her skin so white Like something out of Blake or Burne-Jones Always blocked out the light and shadowed all you owned. Still you think she's forever, Yesterday and tomorrow -but no-one knows where she is. Still you swear that you can win her And your prayer is that she'll want you; Aware, once a saint, now you're a sinner And your sins are going to haunt you When the lady with her skin so white Like something out of Edgar Allen Poe Holds your hand so tight and you hope that she'll never let go.