Porto.
I have been wandering long
Came across your, oh so delicate, delicate frame
Brittle boned, you sat crouched and decayed
Two hundred years or more
Wrinkled map on skin, on floor
Warped window wood
Time had bent it good
Warped window wood
Life had bent it where it stood
Thought in the deep of my sleep
Thought in the depth of my night
Warped window wood
Time had bent it good
Warped window wood
Life had bent it where it stood
Thought in the deep of my sleep
Thought in the depth of my night