Those dying breeds
Gather beneath
Old fallen trees
Bits of leaves
And if only we'd know,
may see that tomorrow
Oh, carry me
Four hands, eight feet
Through crowded streets
Ticker tape on me
And if only I'd know,
may see that tomorrow
Burn my remains
My stuff, the same
Bury my name
It's yours now anyway
And if only I'd know,
may see that tomorrow X3

SUBMIT CORRECTIONS