'Til your singing eyes and fingers drew me loving to your isle.
And you sang:
"Sail to me, sail to me, let me enfold you;
here I am, here I am, waiting to hold you."
Did I dream you dreamed about me?
Were you hare when I was fox?
Now my foolish boat is leaning, broken lovelorn on your rocks.
For you sing:
"Touch me not, touch me not, come back tomorrow;
oh my heart, oh my heart shies from the sorrow."
I'm as puzzled as the newborn child, I'm as troubled as the tide.
Should I stand amid the breakers, or should I lie with Death my bride?
Hear me sing:
"Swim to me, swim to me, let me enfold you;
here I am, here I am, waiting to hold you."
John Frusciante.
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