quentin mitchell dead leaves şarkı sözleri
As the world makes it rounds
Let the wind make the sound
And our door open-bound
To let in the dead leaves
In our house she walks
And to me she talks
Towards the garden she flocks
To feel the dead flowers
In our house we sing
All the notes we bring
Harmonies, intertwined thing
Sing songs of dead poets
With soft hands, pack the fruit
All the food in a towel suit
And with my hands I'll peel the fruit
And bring her the peeled oranges
