And I know Winter will pass by slow Without my heart, what can I do? You´re in the halls, the bell gives way to a larger swell Without my heart, what can I do?
Mount Wroclai
And we grow fat on the charms of our idle dreary days Seen the shadows grow, see an ominous display With no alarm, could we say we´d have expected this way? Our desires have died; give incent to play