UNDONE

I LOVE IT
WHEN PEOPLE PROVE ME WRONG
I LOVE IT
WHEN BALLS OF WOOL
COME UNDONE

UNRAVELLING
FORMING SOMETHING NEW
THE UNMADE YARN
DULY GROWN AND SPUN
ONLY TO COME UNDONE

KNITTING NEEDLES
READY TO RUN
HONEST HANDS
KNOWING ONLY TOO WELL
WHAT MUST BECOME

LOVING THE PROMISE
OF ANOTHER SETTING SUN
PATIENT BELIEF
IN ANCIENT STRINGS
THEY PLAY ON EVERYTHING

HOW I LOVE IT SO
WHEN PEOPLE PROVE ME WRONG
AND ALL SEEMS LOST
ONLY TO BE WON
THEN COME UNDONE