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Текст песни Sundays - Folk Song

Sundays - Folk Song слова песни




Summer sky and a throat bone dryAnd the fields are all goldDusty lane with a song in my brainAnd it stoned me to my soulI climb higher move towards the fire.....blaze sunSilver trees and a whispering breezeAre my sight and my soundThe thought of heaven couldnt drag me from the pathWhen Im wandering here aloneI climb higher move towards the fire.... so blaze sunWatch until it dies slow falling from the skyPale fading sun

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