Regale us once more With the tales you used to chronicle When we were but callow
And all was new
Of age old myths Both formidable and sublime
Of gallant feats That gripped our fledgling minds
Of a spirited people And their bucolic wisdoms
From the land in which you grew From the land in which you pine
An atavist you've always been
A pastoral dream Swells in your soul Evoking the spirit Of soil left behind
A yearning profound Captivates the senses Flooding your heart With lucid recollections
Of burning days Tending to vine and herd Of blackest nights Gazing at the heavens
Cry out for the hills And their ancestral paths Weep in remembrance Of those so revered
The mortal hours are waning Return to her
Drink from her soundless waters If you truly wish to sing Ascend her sun-gilded peaks If you truly wish to climb And when her winds come to reap your earthly vessel Only then will you truly know you have lived
Return to her
An atavist you've always beenTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
