| The bitter lot fell tails - a hard way,
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| Confused by the wind braids of tart grasses,
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| The swarthy velvet of your eyes and the whisper of your lips
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| I remember in distant camps.
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| And the tavern ringing of the guitar until dawn,
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| Yes, not soon you will have to sing to me,
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| Do not mutter outside the window sizari,
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| Going to fly into your sky.
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| The black raven sat on a dead pine
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| And disturbs the silence with the laughter of the sky,
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| And under this crow's laughter
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| Slowly smoldering my life
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| Slowly my life is fading away.
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| The bitter lot dragged for the mists,
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| I lost your gaze in these mists,
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| I just heard the flutter of wings outside the window,
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| The dove thought, the raven laughed at me.
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| The black raven sat on a dead pine
|
| And disturbs the silence with the laughter of the sky,
|
| And under this crow's laughter
|
| Slowly smoldering my life
|
| Slowly my life is fading away.
|
| The black raven sat on a dead pine
|
| And disturbs the silence with the laughter of the sky,
|
| And under this crow's laughter
|
| Slowly smoldering my life
|
| Slowly my life is fading away. |