through the forest one morning with a weapon in his hand; Rich was his castle, he lacked for nothing, but killing was his plan; When a white bird flew
and the sill Drapes hanging from the final act When I had you still One lonely bird is singing Lower the hood hung of his lament Dash him down on cold
: She's a feline tormentor, not any vaudeville wife But with a drunk-town lament he leads her a miserable life But when he's full of that beer-champagne
so far from home Just tell me angel I?m never alone Lay with me angel Speak not a word Your body's so slender Like the wings of a bird Fly from me angel
- 'gainst the wall!! Bang-bang-bang Guerilla war has no end Bang-bang-bang Noone survives the end Walking thru' a bone-dry meadow Birds fly over - and
, I draw strength from an unfinished scribble, I cast thrown away wishes to an interesting pattern of shadows. to a kitten or through a smoke ring. lament the bird
air under the twilight skies Her sorrow lament sounds Like the cry of morning birds Banned from that winter land From the Land of the Bird's Spirit
... Let's go see a movie show... Jean can't choose between the two 'Cos Jules is hip And Jim is cool, And so they live together With the trees and birds
Evil thunder breaks the night Breathless silence might Sacrifices human kind Evoke malicious of her mind From the ashes of the graveyard Sacrament and pain Lamentous
Prisoned in demonic dreams As I arrived on the ruined tomb Centuries of dusk marching side by side Bleeding shadows of thy shrine The forest whispers laments
through the forest One morning with a weapon in his hand; Rich was his castle, he lacked for nothing, But killing was his plan; When a white bird flew
in a quandry, in need of a drink I would have broken the ice on the lake To wet your beak and all the way down to your breast. I'm not lamenting your ordinary birds
She's a feline tormentor, not any vaudeville wife With a drunk-town lament, he leads her a miserable life But when he's full of that beer, champagne She
. Broken hearted I'll wander broken hearted I'll remain since my bonnie light horseman in the wars he was slain. If I was a small bird and had wings
doe's is Esmerelda: Her neck is no whiter than a swan's Prunella: She's only as dainty as a daisy Esmerelda: She's only as graceful as a bird! Both: So
barnyard with a flourish. The Ducklings, the neighbours, and even Drake--so critical of the unusual bird in the beginning --now extol the virtues of having such a fine bird
The Chevalier's Lament (Robert Burns) The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro
