| A wind blows over the meadows of the wind,
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| it flutters in a tulle curtain
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| and I'll write a summer song
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| with sun and floral scent in the melody.
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| I wanted to sing about Katarina
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| to woodwind flutes and alcymbal
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| but the tones of the wind become the songs of summer.
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| I'm just listening in the birch leaf hall.
|
| A wind blows over the meadows of the wind,
|
| it flutters in a tulle curtain
|
| and I'll write a summer song
|
| with sun and floral scent in the melody.
|
| There's a girl walking in the aspen grove,
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| I have a yellowed photograph.
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| Over the years, she became a dream, a fairy tale,
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| the sympathy of a lone wanderer.
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| I wanted to write a little show
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| where moments become eternity,
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| but words become dumb and tones dead
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| and the thought of the song becomes secret,
|
| A wind blows over the meadows of the wind,
|
| it flutters in a tulle curtain
|
| and I'll write a summer song
|
| with sun and floral scent in the melody.
|
| A summer wind and an open window,
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| a curtain flutters and I can see
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| the waving daffodills in the sunshine
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| and I´m composing a melody. |