|
Young woman share your fire with me |
|
My heart is cold, my soul is free |
|
I am a stranger in your land |
|
A wandering man, call me Sand |
|
|
|
|
|
Oh sir my fire is very small |
|
It will not warm thy heart at all |
|
But thee may take me by the hand |
|
Hold me and I'll call thee Sand |
|
|
|
|
|
Young woman share your fire with me |
|
My heart is cold, my soul is free |
|
I am a stranger in your land |
|
A wandering man, call me Sand |
|
|
|
|
|
At night when stars light up the sky |
|
Oh sir I dream my fire is high |
|
Oh taste these lips sir if you can |
|
Wandering man, I call thee Sand |
|
|
|
|
|
Oh sir my fire is burning high |
|
If it should stop sir I would die |
|
A shooting star has crossed my land |
|
Wandering man, - She whispered, - Sand |
|
|
|
|
|
Young woman shared her fire with me |
|
Now warms herself with memory |
|
I was a stranger in her land |
|
A wandering man, she called me sand |
|
|
|
|
|
He was a stranger in my land |
|
A wandering man, i called him sand |
