Cold in this soil and longing for your embrace
Growing old as time takes whats left in state
Then the trees are brown and we all sleep
Heart filled with love, despairing, descending day
Will they take both hands will wrest away
Flesh and bone and time will free us
Exploding with leaves, the wind is the painters brush
Finding lines and filling the heart with love
Down, the trunk, the roots, will feed

ENVIAR CORREÇÕES