Waterloo

Partir c'est mourir un peu.. Att skiljas är att dö en smula. Av barn, fyllon och dårar får man höra sanningen. Det är bäst att bita i det sura äpplet. Den dagen, den sorgen. The Story Begins I remember long ago of night time kisses Full of desire and apprehension, that you would disperse You proclaimed your love, into my ear I slept alone, the brisk cold hiding my fear I would talk of dreams and foreign places You begged me to go on and fulfill your dreams Grand Manier nights , sad morning rays Long gone was my love with golden hair Daniel was not her lover Under starry nights she held him close I was nothing more than a friendly stranger That he adored, and the son I never had St Adolph would be my tormentor On horses we rode in blankets of snow Towards our destinies apart Our fireplace of passion, we soon would depart Like the brothers of Seville I too was caught between two worlds She would leave my heart in the cold of the rivers edge From this day I became one of the walking dead