Old mountains look at me while I’m walking trough the valley
They know things we will never know
They tell us the stories, but we aren’t listening.
We just don’t want to hear them out.
The wind blows trough the valley.
Try to whisper a story in my ear.
I try to listen to the old wind.
But I don’t understand his old language.
Old mountains look at me while I’m walking trough the valley.
Try to tell me the stories they know
And the longer I listen to the old mountains
I understand more and more of the old stories they tell me…
Auteur: Ameris | ||
Gecontroleerd door: maria | ||
Gepubliceerd op: 21 mei 2006 | ||
Thema's: |