A boy sits and talks to a little red book Alone in his chair in a little grey house His thoughts and his dreams Some truths some his faiths To talk back
See these furrowed lines that eat my face And this bitter sweat I bleed to stay See these synchronized hands that leave me cold And these silver streaks
Could you take some wood Some screws and tools Sketch some plans And make things Could you dig some earth Plant some seeds Patiently wait And grow things
I fell out kicking screaming Three quarters through the twentieth century Into warm hands that cured me so well Curiosity helped with learning And teachers
Two and two make three But only when I scream All the other times two and two make four And that's the time I think Reflect on what I know Open up the
Smoke in the dark makes me ask Why cana??t I feel it? Or even taste it as I draw it down I cough now and then so perhaps I should believe it Only darkness
I went most the days I got brought down by waves Confessed to a sin and bright lights I went for the past So the future could last And toyed over possible
I, think of a??39 and folk just like me Torn, from their minds their wives their homes and families Apathya??s cruel but ita??s warm in my bed And I
Folk songs can tell us tales about the times we live And help remind us of what's passed To our sons we can leave some signs So like our fathers we might
Safe in a small world Embrace these fourteen days Absorbed in a small world For ten years I've laid in wait It came real close you know But it's faded
The dinosaurs are coming home They'll breathe again when the kings are gone Gone with us and every sign Except their names stamped on satellites Who
Hey there! Said the man with the can of diet cola in his hand Hey yeah! Laughed the lodger pulling on a big fat roll up spurting flames Hea??s weird!
I don't care if it rains today I've nowhere to go to anyway And it don't matter what I do I'll feel like this until I'm through My hair's a mess my clothes
Instrumental
Превод: Цланнад. Елеанор Плункетт.
Превод: Плункетт, Стив. Слика.
Превод: Плункетт, Стив. Уз брдо.
Превод: Плункетт, Стив. Дисати.
