When the minute goes by faster than the feet
When the winter passes slowly as defeat
When the face of death is after me spinning
Only dream of me, only dream of me
When the children speak of sinners in the street
When the fever hits the center of our feet
When our palms are burnt like balmy winter trees
Only dream of me, only dream of me
When the winter passes slowly as defeat
When the face of death is after me spinning
Only dream of me, only dream of me
When the children speak of sinners in the street
When the fever hits the center of our feet
When our palms are burnt like balmy winter trees
Only dream of me, only dream of me
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