She licks her finger and dampens her eye To make people think she is crying For all around her are tear-sorrowed faces But she is too young to know dying Outside the window tree branches sway down Long glassy fingers sweep snow-covered ground While inside a woman is moaning softly For loss of a son She sees black-ribboned white roses and hears A man with bowed head heavily sighing Then bravely she turns her gaze back to the box Where a broken young body is lying Outside the crystal icicles shine bright Casting a prism, reflecting the light That sends rainbows dancing across the brow Of a pastor in prayer She touches her face to see if the mouth tears She put on with her finger are drying Then her young attention is drawn back outside Where she watches a small brown bird flying Coming to land on the icy fence rail With such a momentum it skids on its tail And she laughs so loud and then quickly Claps her small hand to her mouthTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
