| Garland |
|
In this godforsaken bitterness,
I rest with my hands on your hands,
As I am mislead.
Now I dream of dreams everlasting,
Of an uncursed world with dreamland sky.
How I bleed in this social wilderness,
I grow old without the promised beauty.
I grow old without the live that I dreamed of.
Hold me tight,
I don
Pull me tight,
I don
|
| |
|
