Deadpoets. все тексты (слова) песен, переводы, видео, клипы
- If Our History Is Not As Whole, There's A Hole In His Story
When winter's hands come around again and reach for the trees,
to choke them of their strength and steal away their leaves.
Is that a moment that we can transpose, to our own selves and our own woes?
Or are we so different that those trees are so alone?
We are all falling trees in an empty wood with nobody around,
with nobody around to hear us make a sound.
And that in itself speaks volumes of the human condition,