Sandra Songtext
von Amelia Coburn

Sandra takes the morning bus that winds down to the Seine
With held breath she says a prayer to not be seen
Floral dress of roses and violet soap-soaked hands
Never shrinks or settles down, let it bloom

He drinks in darkness, whisky′s winter warmth
He warns with welts and whispers not to rake over the ashes
Well, that's his funeral


Sandra lives for simple joys
Cooks for queens in crowns of leaves
But when he′s home she's always seen in his shadow
How can one so fierce be frightened by the mouse?
Mistakes are made though trust has gained the falsest friend

The glass in his hand gleaming in the sunless smoky room
From the flicker of the cigarette
To the bowl that holds the ashes
Well, that's his funeral

Sandra cares for children from the local town
She brings them sweets and chocolate treats
And warm embrace


Look at what the tide has brought spilling onto sand
It comes in triplets by the shore to be washed away
To be washed away
Oh, to be washed away
Oh