My lost hours

He´s sweeter than an apple pie,

His hands so soft, soul untouched,

has never said the last goodbye,

Never heard the devil knocking on his door.

He sways with the music that i play,

And stays when i beg him to go away.

I see, he likes to play with broken dolls,

Likes to fix them, be the first one to call.

He enjoys playing in my garden,

likes to smell the witherred flowers.

My lover said "Girl, I like your flavours".

Oh, how prescious where these lost hours.

He swayed with the music that I play,

And stayed when they begged him to go away.

Sleeping Pills