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Kilja is my bird, she cannot sing |
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Chemistry has boiled her strings |
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She said: "Built your hut on my wing" |
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Kilja is the bird who 'catch my fall from a bridge with suicide toll |
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Now I try to wake her bride call |
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Quiet waves my window sill |
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Real is the miracle |
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And the virgin lust of my new born trust can excite us like a double moon in love |
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Kilja writes a poem line in the sand 'bout a norwegian fjord shore bend where a filter breaks the sunstand |
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Secrets in your ever changing suit makes my voice to your substitute 'cause |
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I know Kilja means the "Featherflute" |
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Quiet waves my window sill |
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Real is the miracle |
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And the virgin lust of my new born trust can excite us delight us like a cannon of the winds |
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Quiet waves my window sill |
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Real is the miracle |
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And the virgin lust of my new born trust can excite us and delight us |
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Sometimes |
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I wish to fall your cure, then it's jealousy what rules 'cause your bride call would pull a charming bird into your urge |
