Song | In The Garden Of Souls |
Artist | Vas |
Album | In The Garden Of Souls |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
作曲 : Azam Ali/Greg Ellis | |
In a world where all is borrowed, | |
And time like elusive dust seems to | |
Just slip through our fingers, | |
All we realy have are these precious moments | |
Where we can make fertile the soil | |
In the garden of our hearts, | |
That love may make its home | |
And here the mortal seed may flourish. | |
Only love can free us from the womb of time | |
For life... like a magnificent mysterious cloud holds | |
Its shape and from only long enough for us to blinks, | |
And all our precious memmories are but shadows of | |
Time that will drift away like fallen returning | |
To the emptiness from which they came. | |
Thus we are,like innocent children flowering | |
In the garden of souls |
zuo qu : Azam Ali Greg Ellis | |
In a world where all is borrowed, | |
And time like elusive dust seems to | |
Just slip through our fingers, | |
All we realy have are these precious moments | |
Where we can make fertile the soil | |
In the garden of our hearts, | |
That love may make its home | |
And here the mortal seed may flourish. | |
Only love can free us from the womb of time | |
For life... like a magnificent mysterious cloud holds | |
Its shape and from only long enough for us to blinks, | |
And all our precious memmories are but shadows of | |
Time that will drift away like fallen returning | |
To the emptiness from which they came. | |
Thus we are, like innocent children flowering | |
In the garden of souls |
zuò qǔ : Azam Ali Greg Ellis | |
In a world where all is borrowed, | |
And time like elusive dust seems to | |
Just slip through our fingers, | |
All we realy have are these precious moments | |
Where we can make fertile the soil | |
In the garden of our hearts, | |
That love may make its home | |
And here the mortal seed may flourish. | |
Only love can free us from the womb of time | |
For life... like a magnificent mysterious cloud holds | |
Its shape and from only long enough for us to blinks, | |
And all our precious memmories are but shadows of | |
Time that will drift away like fallen returning | |
To the emptiness from which they came. | |
Thus we are, like innocent children flowering | |
In the garden of souls |