Calling all olive branches and laid-off doves
There is work to do before we say good-bye
And who can see them turning to the face of love?
Though I hear them pleading with me, "Don't let us die"
As I sit, I can hear the troubled souls wander by
And I feel them leaning on my shoulder to cry
Oh one more chance
Naked tree of winter seems to stand so proud
Lording the poor mortal as it goes
And the tears which well beneath the somber shroud
Will they fall with the shame of somebody who knows?
He can never be like the thought of a rose
Who beauty remains even when the bloom goes
Oh one more chance
Or is it too late
To change the way we're bound to go?
Or is it too late?
Surely one of us must know