over the mountain i can hear
myself called
i want to come running but
my window's too small
the cliffs are so high and
i might fall
what were you saying? -- oh,
it's nothing at all.
yes, the world's in convulsions
and the weather is fine
buicks get bigger and five
cents costs a dime
i must get going, you know,
there's not much time
the road is waiting and i'm
running out of rhyme.
up on the hillside, see how
the cross does shine.
Marco Giunco |
Work | Basket | Music | Words |