She's catching the wind: the gentlest of breezes.
It's a sensitive passage she's sailing
Through stormy straits, navigates my unfathomable failings.
She rises before me, reading me clearly.
Empty nest left pressed in the pillow.
She can shift, she can sway
and bend like a willow.
I'm swept in the riptide, caught in a fish trap.
Gift-wrapped in my soft self centre.
Summer sun leaves me as one who can only taste winter.
She's a good, a good God-send: she can bend like a willow.
She bends like a willow. Oh, she bends like a willow.
With a fully armed angel to cover me quickly.
I'm cool under enemy fire.
If I fall, she can crawl right under the wire.
When I'm caustic and cold, she might dare to be bold
ease me round to her warm way of thinking:
fill me up from the cup of love that she's drinking.
And I find, given time, I can bend like a willow.
She bends like a willow.
Bends like a willow,
like a willow,
a willow.
