Indie singer songwriter, Medium tempo, orchestral, building, percussive, emotional, dramatic, cinematic, airy, dreamy, Female vocals, piano, strings, percussion
I was a singing bottle With the wind across my mouth When we tore up the mountain God sewed it up behind There are glass birds, There are broken doves In the holy rooms Of the empty halls And I can't tell which way Is north after all So let down your hair Let it sing down your shoulders Oh, Oh It can't be seen. It can't be seen. Can't be seen. There are glass birds, There are broken doves In the holy rooms Of the empty halls And I can't tell which way Is north after all Your hair....