Twelve
Jude Elliot
I’d been thinking about her since the night at the club. This sad girl with curly, brown hair and sad, brown eyes. I’d been humming Lazarus since that moment in the garden maze. Now, according to Henry, and the papers, she was dating Prince Victor of France. Everyone seemed to be in love with her. And I knew I didn’t stand a chance.
But it didn’t stop me from writing the song.
I was staying in Los Angeles when I’d written it. I was in Bungalow three at the Chateau Marmont. Waiting for the concert that I would have to perform later that night.
I hadn’t really written anything since my last album. But the thing was that I kept on dreaming about her face. She’d looked so sad, stuck in that world that she’d never asked to belong to.
I didn’t mean to make any troub
