Sinead O'Connor A Perfect Indian
A Perfect Indian is he Remembering him life is sweet Like a weeping willow His face on my pillow Comes to me still in my dreams And there I saw a young baby A beautiful daughter was she A face from a painting Red cheeks and teeth aching Her eyes like a wild 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 my self to retrieve Too long have I been feeling like ???'s childern And there's only one way to be free He's shy and he speaks quietly He's gentle and he seems to me Like the elf-arrow His face worn and harrowed Is he a daydreamer like me
