Anita Lipnicka & John Porter - Black Hand lyrics

His black hand On my white belly And I can't even pronounce his name The saxophone Keeps on playing Origami birds fly above my head I'm 15 And I miss home But only happy letters get across the sea If not your eyes That saw it all I could easily pretend it was just a dream Dear Anna, It's good you don't keep in touch, How would we talk about it now?