Hours
Hours drip Splashing bashfully on the plate Fountains hold out their arms And they flow away The plate is afraid That the next drop will be the last And silently the surface trembles What ever can happen? What ever can happen? Hours burn Curling the firey-tresses and melt away over nothing The fire is afraid That it will meet with damp kindling When it comes to devour the last one drop What ever can happen? What ever can happen?
Nearest show