Ben Howard - Black flies
Black flies on the windowsill
that we are, that we are, that we are to know.
Winter stole summer's thrill & the river is cracked & cold.
See the sky is no man's land a darkened plume to stay.
Hope here needs a humble hand not a fox found in your place
No man is an island, this I know
But can't you see?
Maybe you were the ocean when I was just a stone.
Black flies on the windowsill
that we are, that we are, that we are to hold.
Comfort came against my will & every story must grow old. ...