Pages Songtext
von Stephanie Wilson

Dreaming of sounds made of whale songs and water
Of visions through lenses of old Pentax cameras
And softness of skin that is yours that I hold

And I′m dreaming from heights above small kitchen tables
Where answers from elders bust open the ages
To interpret the words that are yours that I hold


Am I old, am I blossoming, bellowing or bold
Am I caught in a fairy tale nobody told
Where my pages are turning, they're dog-eared with folds
And they′re writing themselves in the cold

Dreaming of bones left by avian totems
Of portals that mend when their apertures open
And a promise of love that is yours that I hold

Am I old, am I blossoming, bellowing or bold
Am I caught in a fairy tale nobody told
Where my pages are turning, they're dog-eared with folds
And they're writing themselves in the spirit of old
And they′re writing themselves in the cold