Think of fields, my little friend,
‘bout the grass beneath the snow,
‘bout the space, and love, and grace,
‘bout the seas and life below.
Think of rain and think of wind,
Think of every perfect sky;
There’s a life beneath the hit,
Dust and smoke, Pain and lie.
When your heart is quiet and deep
Ways you go are always plain;
Calm your breath and fall asleep.
Let me take away your pain.
Lullaby
© Copyright: Torres, 2004
Свидетельство о публикации №104012801221
Свидетельство о публикации №104012801221
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