Bad winds...
Small breeze...
Hol-low ice...
Au-tumns now shall shine...
O-ceans...
Move-less e-ven-ti-i-ide...
Far a-way from sight...
From the moon-light bring up dreams
Straight from hands to thee
Old born town
On the s-tre-e-ets
Nights, Games, Fan-ta-sy
My dreams and thoughts and fa-ate
The balance's at your feet
Oh an-gel born too la-ate,
For fore-man to meet
For live with emo-tions must I dream to think you're mine
What pu-ri-ty I've lost so ten-der as the wine
In what mu-se senses froze this?
Could the lights feel weak?
But dreams are far to me-ee,
The balance's at your feet
Oh an-gel born too la-ate,
For fallen men to meet
What pu-re emo-tions must I dream to think you're mine
What pu-ri-ty I've lost so ten-der, I should find...
A-round my care-less world, I dre-e-eam to think you're mine
What pu-ri-ty I've lost, so ten-der and di-vine?
What pu-ri-ty I've lost !oh the-e-ee! to think you're mine
Do-own to the fal-ling leaves that are brok-ened throught the dance
A-round my care-less words I'd dre-am to think you're mine
Oh! What a pu-ri-ty I-'ve lo-o-o-o-ost...
