歌词
Procession moves on,
the shouting is over,
Praise to the glory
of loved ones now gone.
Talking aloud as they sit round their tables,
Scattering flowers
washed down by the rain.
Stood by the gate
at the foot of the garden,
Watching them pass
like clouds in the sky,
Try to cry out
in the heat of the moment,
Possessed by a fury
that burns from inside.
Cry like a child,
though these years make me older,
With children my time
is so wastefully spent,
A burden to keep,
though their inner communion,
Accept like a curse
an unlucky deal.
Played by the gate
at the foot of the garden,
My view stretches out
from the fence to the wall,
No words could explain,
no actions determine,
Just watching the trees
and the leaves as they fall.
专辑信息