A clear account, amidst the fragrant sounds, we met near an alder grove. I saw reprieve, and her in me, Then the irons trolled for the newly blessed. On cold nights by fireside she taught me arts and forbidden lore, I came to know, her voice had slowed, I watched her inch away from heavens grace.
A small child she bore with the last breath that she spoke. Through cross shadows we walked on the longest of days and tearfully kissed.
A gift. A child. From lost now re-made. So why befall my with ill state? When the flowers rained, we parted ways and I placed her next to where her mother lay.
By a several thread I tried to hold on, But, What's the point when everything's gone?
The song of irons sing a horrid tune. Twice now sung and now forever removed. A fitting end to a fate I must deserve. I may have laughed, but in truth I dissolved. Not a single word on these stones I recalled. Where flowers fell. my memories don't serve.
What was her name? What was her name? It's always the same.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
