Beeswing, organized
This is to blame. She was: Working next to me A rare thing Fine as: a bee’s wing so fine a breath of air might blow her away A lost child Running wild Sleeping rough back on the Derby beat Even married once, to a man named Romany Brown I was: Nineteen when I came to town In love with a laundry girl We: Busked around the market square Picked fruit down in Kent ...