We Can Fly
Along the edge of this airfield
The old prop-shaft airliners stand
Altimeters reading zero
Formless memories lingering
Nights are cold on this airfield
I sit alone watching radar
Locked on the wavelength, God in the field
Falling slowly into the screen
Every day that you waste
Is one more that you lost
When you wake up
I see you there
On display in lights
A final point of no return
Taking us there from here
And we can fly from here
And we can fly from here
And we can fly from here
Into a sky so clearly
Move back, we*ll dry the tears
For those once held so dearly
And love will never disappear
INSTRUMENTAL
Along the edge of this airfield
The old prop-shaft airliners stand
Altimeters reading zero
Formless memories lingering
Lingering, lingering, lingering
And we can fly from here
Into a sky so clearly
Look back, we*ll dry the tears
For those once held so dearly
And we can fly from here
*We can fly
And we can fly from here
*We can fly
And we can fly from here
*We can fly
And we can fly from here
*We can fly
And we can fly from here
Always understanding that we can fly
INSTRUMENTAL+
Every day that you waste
Is one more that you*ve lost
On display in lights
A final point of no return
Every day that you waste
Is one more that you*ve lost
On display in lights
A final point of no return
Похожие новости.
Пошла Вон
Мое имя могло бы звучать иначе: Мелодичней, чем в этих устах жестоких. Ты сказала, что нужен романтик-мальчик, Но и дядя чтоб твердо стоял на почве. На два фронта, как панда кунг-фу, фигачишь: Днем – моя
Song I’d Like To Sing
(na na na na na na na....) There’s a song I’d like to sing Do you know the song I mean? It don’t always sound the same But it’s always good to sing. Maybe it
Зоряне Кохання
Зiрками вкрите небо чарiвне. Мiж ними ми, мов птахи, пролiтаєм. I бачимо, як сонечко ясне В своїх обiймах землю зiгрiває. Приспiв: Нас поєднали зорi веснянi, Краса землi в ранковому свiтаннi. "Люблю, люблю!" - освiдчивсь ти менi. I я
Legend Of Bonnie And Clyde
Bonnie was a waitress in a small cafe Clyde Barrow was the rounder that took her away They both robbed and killed until both of them died So goes the Legend of Bonnie
The Grace Of A Dancer
She had the grace of a dancer, pretty as the morning sun, Her days were filled with laughter, and when sixteen years had come, She went to work in the old house,