Far, far away where the birch wouldn't grow
Far, far away where you won't be alone
I would rather fly with eagles to the snow hills
I would rather run with wolves between the trees
So far away, my mind flies to the moon
Far, far away, I can see what happens soon
I would rather be with my old wise trees
Than in the middle of these noisy streets
Far, far away...
Far, far away
© Copyright: Хэтфилд, 2005
Свидетельство о публикации №105122101081
Свидетельство о публикации №105122101081
Рецензии
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