Every Story Must Grow Old

 PERSONAL UPDATE

This song is dedicated to all those wonderful people that I had the honor
to call them friends at one point in my life...
God bless them all.



Black flies on the windowsill
That we are, that we are, that we are to know
Winter stole summer's thrill
And the river's cracked and cold
See, the sky is no man's land
A darkened plume to stay
Hope here needs a humble hand
Not a fox found in your place

No man is an island
Oh, this I know
But can't you see, oh?
Or maybe you were the ocean
When I was just a stone

Black flies on the windowsill
That we are, that we are, that we are to hold
Comfort came against my will
And every story must grow old
Still I'll be a traveller
A gypsy's reins to face
But the road is wearier
With that fool found in your place

No man is an island
Oh, this I know
But can't you see, oh?
Or maybe you were the ocean
When I was just a stone

No man is an island
Oh, this I know
But can't you see, oh?
Or maybe you were the ocean
When I was just a stone

So here we are

Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh

And I don't wanna beg your pardon
And I don't wanna ask you why
But if I was to go my own way
Would I have to pass you by?
And I don't wanna beg your pardon
And I don't wanna ask you why
But if I was to go my own way
Would I have to pass you by?

Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh


No comments:

Post a Comment