sábado, 21 de março de 1998

What do I hear?

A sight of awe,

A sight of fear…

When you look up

And try to hear…

There are people flying,

There are things falling…

Whilst here we’re trying

To hear their words…

They speak too laud,

They whisper things too,

They seem too proud

To be above you.

In despair you must

Know how to get high…

Being on top is lust,

But somehow you can’t fly…

What you get from the sky?

Things falling to the ground.

You know why?

Cause you didn’t found

A way to ignore the sky

And concentrate in sound…

The sound of love.

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