I don’t say much, I keep an apple in my eye

As a lost soul modern day catcher in the rye

So ask a passer-by if he’s ever had hope

And if he knows what it’s like to drink with a glass throat

And as the land slopes above the half cracked road

It rolls like the strokes of the last van gogh

And as those sad black crows cry for a summer’s kiss

The dew drips softly off your lost lover’s lips

And suddenly you’re back at the start of this riddle

And she’s there by the broken tree, carving your initials

Throwing stones by the water’s edge and watching all the ripples

Drinking wine, only to throw the bottle to the river

And for all this life’s but a heart beating in your chest

With the world on your shoulders and an evening to confess

And all you need is rest, but you’re too tired to sleep

Let yourself drift away towards the lights in the deep

(Echo Murmur)

Between the days of love and where the graves are cut

There’s Hollie drinking raindrops from a paper cup

Star spinning in the field with the lady bugs

Eyes strange and young face full of angel dust

She’s a black and white movie in 1923

A theatre with the reel running to the empty seats

Pure nothing laughing underneath these open skies

Where you can scream as loud as you can and there’s no reply

Where you can close your eyes, smell the cloves and glide

Barefoot through the clover in the lonely night

She’s your broken bride in her ironed dress

Hair spinning in the mist and it’s fire red

So in autumn Hollie’s nothing but the falling leaves

Falling free for God a forgotten dream

Lost to me, across November bloom

Curled up Christ-like in the crescent moon