Quiet nights and quiet stars, quiet chords from my guitar. Floating on the silence that surrounds us. Quiet thoughts and quiet dreams, quiet walks by quiet streams. Climbing hills where lovers go
Quiet nights and quiet stars, quiet chords from my guitar. Floating on the silence that surrounds us. Quiet thoughts and quiet dreams, quiet walks by quiet streams. Climbing hills where lovers go
Quiet nights and quiet stars, quiet chords from my guitar. Floating on the silence that surrounds us. Quiet thoughts and quiet dreams, quiet walks by quiet streams. Climbing hills where lovers go
Foreign Content Quiet nights of quiet stars. Quiet chords from your guitar. Floating on the silence. That surrounds us Quiet thoughts and quiet dreams. Quiet walks by quiet streams. And a window
I was once was told of a mutant who could twist space around him. And now it seems that I've met him Chick this out. Company Flow manifests itself in many different ways. We rhyme like this is the
Queen of the hours lies waiting for the wind. To blow away the veil of time. Slowly now the threads ofage. Are starting to unwind. . Queen of the hours, along, along, along. The path of time
is too soon. I guess I'll have to borrow. One of your sunny afternoons. But afternoons they never come. There's nothing left for me to borrow. I guess I'll try again tomorrow - * 4. You're
conform a new faith. Avidity and lust controlled by hate. The never ending search for your shattered sanity. Souls of damnation in their own reality. . Chaos rampant. An ageof distrust
ourselves. Only in you can we imagine our mend. So sick and so tired of being 4 real. Only the fiction still has the appeal. . How I hate middle age. In between acceptance and rage. Democracy has sure
ourselves. Only in you can we imagine our mend. So sick and so tired of being 4 real. Only the fiction still has the appeal. . How I hate middle age. In between acceptance and rage. Democracy has sure
ourselves. Only in you can we imagine our mend. So sick and so tired of being 4 real. Only the fiction still has the appeal. . How I hate middle age. In between acceptance and rage. Democracy has sure