When the night falls
in the wet rain drops
the fluttering of the leaves
that star, I don't know what she speaks
In all the other things that awake my quiet reverie
My Artist, I feel you telling me your story
Stories of far past
Stories of moments that hardly last
of all those merry, gay nights
of those hard hangovers and crazy fights
Artist, if I could only say
How I treasure the pearls of your stories for my solitary days
In years I don't know where I will be
But won't you be there, won't you come to see me?
Or may be it's too much to ask from Time
I've got more than what's truly mine
Artist, in a far off town or at an unfamiliar strand
Send me your stories that blow from your land
Sep 7, 2017
Sep 7, 2017 at 1:12 AM UTC
When the night falls
in the wet rain drops
the fluttering of the leaves
that star, I don't know what she speaks
In all the other things that awake my quiet reverie
My Artist, I feel you telling me your story
Stories of far past
Stories of moments that hardly last
of all those merry, gay nights
of those hard hangovers and crazy fights
Artist, if I could only say
How I treasure the pearls of your stories for my solitary days
In years I don't know where I will be
But won't you be there, won't you come to see me?
Or may be it's too much to ask from Time
I've got more than what's truly mine
Artist, in a far off town or at an unfamiliar strand
Send me your stories that blow from your land
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