A Perfect Indian
by Sinead O'cornner
A perfect indina is he
Remembering him life is sweet
Like a weeping willow
His face was pillow
Comes to me in my dreams
And there I saw a young baby
A beatiful daughter was she
A face from a painting
Red cheeks and teeth aching
Her eyes like a 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 myself to retrive
Too long have I been feeling like Lir's children
And there is only one way to be free
He's shy and speaks quietly
He's gentle and seems to me
Like the elf-arrow
His face worn and narrowed
Is he a daydreamer like me |