Well, the tree it does whither
You're hands like peaches grow old
Your back bends like a willow
With nobody left now to hold
Your dreams, hopes, aspirations
Have all turned to dust
You've nobody left now to talk to
And you've no-one left now to trust
Should I mourn your decline
Should I be nice to you
Where do I draw the line
It is in to a home that awaits you
Should I mourn your final decline
No, I will drink to your decline
I will drink to your decline
You're hands like peaches grow old
Your back bends like a willow
With nobody left now to hold
Your dreams, hopes, aspirations
Have all turned to dust
You've nobody left now to talk to
And you've no-one left now to trust
Should I mourn your decline
Should I be nice to you
Where do I draw the line
It is in to a home that awaits you
Should I mourn your final decline
No, I will drink to your decline
I will drink to your decline
Comments (0)
The minimum comment length is 50 characters.
Information
Users of Guests are not allowed to comment this publication.
There are no comments yet. You can be the first!