|
|
|
|
|
She doesn't tailor what I wear And I don't tailor what you wear I will not let her heal my wounds An d I will not cure you if you are wounded I'm not your father, Nor, absolutely, her son So, can you, my little one, be wise? As love is like a sea It has ebb and flow, Trust and betrayal And your love Has flow, over flow I fear for you to dry out Love is giving Yet, in your love You just take And for whom you ask about her giving is without limits As her love is like a sea Which has ebb, behind ebb I fear for you to drown Thus, my little one, be wise As she doesn't tailor what I wear And I don't tailor what you wear
30 August 1995 |
ليست
هي مفصلةٌ ما
ألبس |
I don't
tailor what you wear