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
Copyright © Arthur Vaso | Year Posted 2014
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