credit: http://ghostpatrol.net/
We sat beneath the wych elm tree, and you were singing, "Oh skeletal bones, oh skeletal bones where will you be when I've gone home." I looked at you curiously, wondering where that song had played on the radio. Were you trying to sing a song about us? And you looked at me with that child-like song vibrating in the air as you kept on singing, "Can I hold your hand, can I call you home - you're, you're that cage that protects when I'm alone." Your voice might have been ratty and gritty like old bones in dry sand, but you still sounded so lovely to me.
