Dreaming of the stranger, who brings me to the warmest fields in the coldest winter and holds me with his wide arms. 6 feet tall, dark blond hair, shaved both sides, brown eyed baby. Soft lips and a cigarette between his fingers. He's driving a 1957's Chevy in Navy blue. And our song is on the radio. Like it was created for two strangers... I only know his name and that's all I need to know. But do names matter? I will never know enough about him... Isn't that the spark that we all need to keep our fire burning forever? "I'm coming" - a long kiss on his whiskey mouth. But he's a good boy. He brings the world in my feet, anytime I want it.
I don't like blond guys, but I like him. I hate smoking, but I smoke his cigarettes. Quarrels are not in my taste, but I can quarrel with him all day.
Blew the smoke of his cigarette trough the window. And than we go, nowhere and forward...
"I was a heavy heart to carry,
my feet dragged across gound
and he took me to the river,
where he slowly let me drown"