|
In the morning you will breahte |
|
and in the evening you'll believe |
|
no more cramping in your style |
|
no more dampening your smile |
|
Oh her house is homemade |
|
but she's leaving this island |
|
oh, will you row |
|
or with a sail and a wind |
|
will you go? |
|
Over the roadless land |
|
your world curves towards me |
|
you came sailing across |
|
not relaying your loss |
|
Oh I've waited so long |
|
my childish writing |
|
is stil there after all |
|
east house to Norway |
|
aeroplane through the rain |
|
Oh her house is homemade |
|
but she's leaving this island |
|
oh, will you row |
|
or with a sail and a wind |
|
will you go? |
