Oh, there is love o'not the worldly kind
No limits and no boundaries for ages
No pain or strain whenever it's unwind
Being written blood on the immortal pages
Oh, there are waters o'unworldly spring
Like hope in Man in desperate surrender
Like pendulums got frozen in a swing
A touch of grace, a touch so slender
Oh, there are dreams, the slaves o'yours
Or, maybe, you are one of those
Who find 'eir joy in being a slave
Of those who bring 'em curse.
Oh, there is love...
© Copyright: Томас Кромвель, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110062106101
Свидетельство о публикации №110062106101
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