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A perfect indian

by Sinead O'Connor


A Perfect Indian is he
Remembering him life is sweet
Like a weeping willow
His face on my pillow
Comes to me still in my dreams

And there I saw a young baby
A beautiful daughter was she
A face from a painting
Red cheeks and teeth aching
Her eyes like a wild Irish sea

On a table in her yellow dress
For a photograph feigned happiness
Why in my life is that the only time
That any of you will smile at me

I´m sailing on this terrible ocean
I´ve come for my self to retrieve
Too long have I been feeling like Lir´s children
And there´s only one way to be free

He´s shy and he speaks quietly
He´s gentle and he seems to me
Like the elf-arrow
His face worn and harrowed
Is he a daydreamer like me

I´m sailing on this terrible ocean
I´ve come for my self to retrieve
Too long have I been feeling like Lir´s children
And there´s only one way to be free





 

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