In the summery nights
after we would fight
you would take my hand
almost unplanned
and utter the first word
bitterness would thus get blurred,
a trail of words would follow
all anger would seem hollow,
words weaved in a song
and I would sing along.
Sing that song
when we walked along.
after we would fight
you would take my hand
almost unplanned
and utter the first word
bitterness would thus get blurred,
a trail of words would follow
all anger would seem hollow,
words weaved in a song
and I would sing along.
Sing that song
when we walked along.
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