Corinne Bailey Rae

So young for death,
We walk in shoes too big
But you play it like a poet,
Like you always did.
And I lay face upturned on the palm of God,
Pushed on by the fingertips of dreams,
They haunted me,
Consoling me.
And I would like to call, call it beauty,
Strained as love's become, it still amazes me
And I would like to call it beauty, ....
You slept a sigh like the angels speak,
And we danced into tomorrow on bleeding feet
And I had thought that I would die here