Well, the tree it does wither You're hands like peaches grow old Your back bends like a willow With nobody left now to hold
Your dreams, hopes, aspirations Have all turned to dust You've nobody left now to talk to And you've no-one left now to trust
Should I mourn your decline
Should I be nice to you Where do I draw the line It is in to a home that awaits you Should I mourn your final decline
No, I will drink to your decline I will drink to your declineTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
