Florence Welch

I often don’t know what I’m trying to say till years later.

the song is somehow speaking through me in its own language.

The song has its own personality, and is bigger and stronger than I am.

to just write something down and let it stay there, on the page, seems to me an enormously vulnerable thing.

I don’t know what makes a song a song and a poem a poem: they have started to bleed into each other at this stage.
You can have everything.

She killed it with kisses

The horses are coming so you better run

Leave all your love and your longing behind
You can’t carry it with you if you want to survive

And I never wanted anything from you
Except everything you had
And what was left after that too

Who is the lamb and who is the knife?