Ένα τραγούδι-αριστούργημα για το φθινόπωρο. Από έναν μεγάλον άγνωστο (στην Ελλάδα) του british folk.
On a misty autumn morning
you can hear the wild birds call
giving chilly winter warning
that the Evening Star will fall
I feel the wind that sings their crying
I wish the dying sun goodbye
and I stand to see them flying
to a warm and welcome sky
And I stay to meet cold winter
to crunch the crackling ice and snow
to walk along beneath bare branches
and wonder why you had to go
The empty rooms they echo laughter
the broken door creaks one more song
and in the silence that comes after
the dusty floors, they ask "how long?"
And I stay to meet cold winter
to crunch the crackling ice and snow
to walk along beneath bare branches
and wonder why you had to go
Soon I'll find winter clothes to hold me
and wrap myself against the cold
but frost and fire they never told me
there is no peace in growing old
There is no peace in growing old...
On a misty autumn morning
you can hear the wild birds call
giving chilly winter warning
that the Evening Star will fall
I feel the wind that sings their crying
I wish the dying sun goodbye
and I stand to see them flying
to a warm and welcome sky
And I stay to meet cold winter
to crunch the crackling ice and snow
to walk along beneath bare branches
and wonder why you had to go
The empty rooms they echo laughter
the broken door creaks one more song
and in the silence that comes after
the dusty floors, they ask "how long?"
And I stay to meet cold winter
to crunch the crackling ice and snow
to walk along beneath bare branches
and wonder why you had to go
Soon I'll find winter clothes to hold me
and wrap myself against the cold
but frost and fire they never told me
there is no peace in growing old
There is no peace in growing old...
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