Plenty of The West - текст песни
Plenty of The West
Practicing the pale polemic of a passioned passing soul
I watch and wait for footfalls that hold the words you stole
But for a fleeting instant as you carried me away
I stood, told those who would listen, "I have enough to say."
Where in the wounded wounded world would you go
If you had a bred considerance of faulty falling foes
The feeling of a foolish fancy stopped the driving train
>From staying tothe open path or wandering away
Steathily providing for a mint and winter snow
Pacing and complaining about where you have to go
Still you ask surrender and provide a pleasing pitch
But still releasing penalties and pointing out to which
Painful and pretending all I ask is that you stay
For seeing how the bundled birch reclines until the day
Be broken stance. The burning bough can offer us a way
To shout, befall, and broken fast the will will bring a way
Winding down the windy hollow breaking fast a blemish in the past
While a play of ends and over beckoning the power hold her fast
Pleasing all the fallow plunder, every night is sure to watch
Blue December marks the dust until wwe wept until the march
Studied plains of indecision as we wither by the stream
Of empty wood and hollow embers cast into our fading dream
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