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Vienna |
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Gregorian |
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Master of Chant I |
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We walked in the cold air. |
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Freezing breath on a window pane, |
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Lying and waiting. |
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The man in the dark in a picture frame, |
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So mystic and soulful. |
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A voice reaching out in a piercing cry, |
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It stays with you until. |
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The feeling has gone only you and I. |
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It means nothing to me, |
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This means nothing to me, |
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Oh, Vienna... |
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The music is weaving |
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Haunting notes, pizzicato strings, |
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The rhythm is calling. |
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Alone in the night as the daylight brings, |
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A cold, empty silence. |
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The warmth of your hand and a cold grey sky, |
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It fades to the distance. |
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The image has gone only you and I. |
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It means nothing to me, |
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This means nothing to me, |
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Oh, Vienna... |
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Oh, Vienna... |
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Oh, Vienna... |
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This means nothing to me, |
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This means nothing to me, |
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Oh, Vienna... |
