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Here's the stuff we found when you searched for "When she wrote her final song"

When she sleeps, is she not moving her legs aside for an unknown garrison?
I cried when I wrote this song, sue me if I play too long
When she woke up, her hands were still dreaming
She Will Have Her Way: The Songs Of Tim & Neil Finn
if you fear spells, look away when she decides to share her hair with the wind.
She ties regrets around her fingers like forget-me-knots
I gave her my heart, she tore it apart, and who gives a fart.
She was the prettiest, loveliest cat at the ball and she had upon her fine gilded whiskers.
I don't tell her these things, and she doesn't ask
This song I wrote about Sheila
Is it fair for him to love me when she craves his touch?
She does not rustle but her flesh has the moonlit shade of a silver birch
You put a hand on her hip, she permits it.
She wears her failed relationships like a shield
His face when she fell
when Hemingway Wrote
Where does the song go when the needle is lifted?
She is stupidly keeping herself a secret, when I know she has sparkly things to show me
She who leaves men as flaming wrecks in the ditch on the side of the road in her wake, yea, even submarines
I don't think she even knows that I make her smile
I don't like her because she won't like me
She didn't wave goodbye so much as slightly raise her hand
I would have attempted to draw her if she had stayed that way.
She was most amazed by the obvious, like January and the fact that I could not possibly keep her.
She sat in virginal white, eyes closed, with only her face in rose
When she shouts BE QUIET THE NEIGHBORS WILL HEAR IF YOU'RE NOT QUIET
Murder She Wrote
This story is a Neil Young song when you aren't looking
You know you're in a terrible mood when the songs don't work
someday, when she will think back upon the time when she was as yet undishonored
She opened her eyes and spoke in a very normal voice, just as if she were sane
She asked me to copy my poem into her notebook
She grew a little older, while he was telling her
Some nights, alone, he thinks of her, and some nights, alone, she thinks of him
She is the queen of accidental magic. Her used kleenexes, taken by the wind, become soulful ghosts.
Her innocence fell. She kicked at it some, frowned, and left it there because it was beautiful.
It happened to everyone else; she swore it wouldn't to her
I like it when I dream of her. It's the only time we get to talk.
She picked herself up, wiping away at her dignity
the sonnet what I wrote her
She asked me if I loved her and I showed her the tattoo
i gave her my heart. she gave me a pen.
Song of a Young Lady to her Ancient Lover
She may be pretty and have more money than me but she doesn't write songs about you.
That's all she wrote
When she died
It must be morning when she dreams.
And when she came back she was nobody's wife
I would have liked thunder when she left
A poem I wrote when I was 5
Songs to sing when protesting alongside Communists
Some Haikus I Wrote When We Went to the Keys
I wrote you a song
When she was new, she rolled around the sky like a black umbrella blown by the wind
She thought about giving him her heart
She calls him Sugarcane. He calls her Hurricane.
she left her handwriting all over the calendar
All the while he was talking she was thinking what his whiskers would feel like on the back of her neck
She was a committed romantic and an anarcha-feminist. This was hard for her because it meant she couldn't blow up beautiful buildings.
She found her bliss between the headphones, and pursed her lips.
Kitty interrupts his murky float with the nail gun splash of her stiletto song
The portion of her face she allows me to see
when I touch her I hope it's you that smiles
The emotion on her face was always the one that she was feeling in her heart
It is her name that I think of when I think about being in love.
she had already found her party
Veronica loves manipulating her vagina until she explodes
She was never mine. I always shared her.
What do girls think about guys when they catch guys staring at their breasts, but the guy is actually trying to read her shirt?
I told her I could read her mind, but she didn't believe me. I could tell.
Her self image was not the force field she imagined it to be
She practices her speech
she lit her thumb on fire
She is willing to attempt to retrieve the data. Go with her.
little pieces of her tragically poetic attempts at being loved that she was startlingly aware of, today
I got the feeling the Fairy Council was mad at me when the president knocked over her coffee to get a better grip on my neck
She Called in Her Soul to Come and See
before the internet when teen had REAL relationship the boy could look at the girl and judge the diameter of her thorax with his feelers and determine whether the mating ritual could commence but NO MORE. evil woman use her computer sorcery
She keeps her lies everywhere
A girl I know had her jaw wired shut, and she vomited.
A dose of mystery slipped into her cocktail while she was in the ladies' room
I remember when it was me who made her toilet flush
you never once told her how beautiful she was nor how much you truly loved her
I was throwing around useless proverbs when all she needed was to be held and told that she was beautiful
Venus, when she is the evening star
She is what happens when silence makes love with night.
Spinning shapes like a song out of order. In the dark she can see fireflies.
When that cow would walk it was like she was dancing
And When She Sings
She wrote the great american napkin
she is the sort of woman who, when put to the magnifying glass, refused to burn
When she is talking to him
"I'm sure your song is beautiful," she laughed
when she saw the funny side, we introduced my child bride to whisky and gin
when you're done, you can let her die if that's what you want. Or you can wake her.
I Bet You Don't Know When The Song Is Going To End
What I wrote when I was missing David
When your life has become a Radiohead song
I wrote the song in my head
The hostages wrote thank you cards to their captors when they got home.
Poetry you found that you wrote when you were ten but secretly still like
every day she stands there, waiting. every day, she's gone when i get there.
She will remember your heart when men are fairy tales in books written by rabbits
She bruised her knee. This is how we met.
They walk around her like she is in danger of breaking
She flies with her own wings
Her perception of how gorgeous she is will be evident in her lack of movement during sex
I remember when it was me who made her skin flush
So bashful when I spied her
In a quiet grove of pines under a frosty sky, he helped her out of the sack. She wore severe white hospital pajamas and was beautiful.
One day I wrote her name upon the strand
What's she gonna look like with a chimney on her?
Sometimes the apathy she saw made her want to curl up and cry
Would you like to penetrate her shell, insinuating yourself among the pages of the books she is reading?
Her grief is still too young to behave itself, so she never lets it out
I haven't seen her in a month. She is still beautiful.
serene. She sips her tea
I come home, she lifted up her wings. I guess that this must be the place.
He touched her once and she turned into a golden creature. He never touched her again.
At night, her eyes closed, she would
She was inside the music, with her eyes closed
She plugs her tears in the way you'd keep a dam from breaking
She is so beautiful, I gave up Nihilism for her
it was just as if she held her breath for 82 years
does she need to touch her own face to know?
She does not take her trip. She does not shout out loud.
the way she wears her weary
If I'd have shot her when I met her, I'd be out of jail by now.
She opened her eyes, looked at a world made entirely of white light
She always was devious in her beauty
You can play with my ex-girlfriend, but treat her like the lady that she is.
She said, while hugging a bowl of turnips close to her bosom
How to be strong for her, when all you want is to depend on her
she doesn't write, doesn't tell you stories, but somehow it's her words that spring to mind at those crucial, terrifying moments, and for that you are eternally grateful
She was so quiet that nobody heard her
why she makes her wishes at 7:07
She Will Have Her Way
When I look into her eyes, I no longer care about what the world thinks. This is what it feels like to be alive.
She is the sea. Above her, he is thunder.
Susan Goldman, who has cervical cancer, is partly thankful as she braces herself but changes her mind as she's sprayed with burning jet fuel.
radios work better when closer to her skin
When you can almost recognize her face, but you can't remember her name
when still her eyes held water
When the Dancer Holds the Sun in Her Arms
while she sleeps, i write myself into her life
She gets caught in the little world beneath her sheets
She knows no truth except her own.
She asked me to read her a poem
She disappeared as if he had only dreamed her
When Did You See Her Last?
She, the Last Leviathan. She, the Station Agent. Chin on her Palm, she Watches Every Departure.
She smokes. It wraps around her wrists and clings to her neck.
She nicknamed her vagina "Crusty"
She said her father died of cancer in the sixties
Because I still love her, because I know she still loves me.
And she, with her beautiful words and such a fire burning inside
Robert Lionel Fanthorpe fills up the word count in a science fiction novel: she brushed her teeth
When she was bad
She bought a new smile every week when we first started seeing each other. Then I had to buy them.
She dumped me when she found out I'd been faking my Scottish accent
She crashed her car trying to avoid a butterfly
Her Final Hunt
And when she turned into a man, we were so proud
I'm sorry I was speeding, officer, but I really have to get to the hospital
she gave her heart to a falling star
She always confused her greys with white.
She is a night of dark trees, but he who is not afraid of her darkness will find banks full of roses under her cypresses
Since she whom I lov'd hath paid her last debt
The Final Fantasy Numbering System
Final Exhortation
I Wrote a Poem Daddy
Final Fantasy III
Final Home
Final Fantasy Tactics Advance
I have crossed the final threshold
The development of Germany's "final solution" in World War II
Final Fantasy X-2
Final Fantasy Legend II

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