Wicth کے بول

You were a witch with your short hair The weather would celebrate us both as we ran all the way home Staked out in the oaks In the form of little brothers from down below The weather would celebrate us both as we ran all the way home Tumbling down the hill Our faces dirty with warpaint And all off Jerusalem is sleeping in our front yard Please be able only to see the legs in front of us We went through the carpentry Having stolen parts of buildings Shouting for you to stop the songs on your knees Are we as bandits with orange peels over our eyes? You were a witch with your short hair The weather would celebrate us both as we ran all the way home Tumbling down the hill Our faces dirty with warpaint These are the tools that take the marrow from your bones