There are the strangers, who serve to the Lord
They keep a pure thoughts and sick for an award
But when the night comes down slowly
They commit a sin wholly,
While every morning they beggin' for remission
And prayin' for an attrition's recognition
They are blaming the Devil's force
But claim: "in our souls is a remorse"
In this way lots decades are lived by
Yet sun is still shinin' at the sky
The moon still embellishes the night
And people tumble with no choice, usin' no right
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Оригинал - Зак
There are the strangers, who serve to the Lord
© Copyright: Мадлен Перевод, 2013
Свидетельство о публикации №113050808622
Свидетельство о публикации №113050808622
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