The naked tree of winter seems
to stand so proud,
Lording the poor mortal as
he goes.
And the tears which well beneath
his sombre shroud,
Will they fall with the shame
of somebody who knows
He can never be like the thought
of a rose
Whose beauty remains even
though the bloom goes?
"Oh, oh one more chance."
Oh is it too late to change
the way we're bound to go?
Is it too late? Then surely
one of us must know.
(repeat last verse)
Marco Giunco |
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