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The last time I saw her face, her eyes were bathed in starlight and her hair hung long |
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The last time she spoke to me, her lips were like the scented flowers inside a rain-drenched forest |
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But that was so long ago that I can scarcely feel the way I felt before |
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And if time could heal the wounds, I would tear the threads away that I might bleed some more |
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The last time I walked with her |
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Her laughter was the steeple bells |
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That ring to greet the morning sun |
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A voice that called to everyone |
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To love the ground she walked upon |
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Those were good day |
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The last time I held her hand, her touch was autumn, spring and summer, and winter too |
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The last time I let go of her, she walked a way into the night |
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I lost her in the misty streets, a thousand months, a thousand miles |
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When other lips will kiss her eyes |
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A million miles beyond the moon, that's where she is |
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But that was so long ago that I can scarcely feel the way I felt before |
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And if time could heal the wounds, I would tear the threads away that I might bleed some more |
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The last time I saw her face, her eyes were bathed in starlight and she walked alone |
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The last time she kissed my cheek |
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Her lips were like the wilted leaves |
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Upon the autumn covered hills |
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Resting on the frozen ground |
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The seeds of love lie cold and still |
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Beneath a battered marking stone |
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It lies forgotten |
