Sometimes the days open up like fruit,
the words fall silent, lost in pursuit,
a bitter taste remains, so deep,
ashes, hidden where shadows sleep,
in the corners of the fence, so cold,
where time stands still, yet grows so bold.
A blue stripe, infinitely wide,
passes over the wall of summer’s tide,
shrouds the riddles of my life in rain,
leaving echoes of forgotten pain.
But through the mist, the sky still gleams,
as though to wake me from my dreams.
From the darkness of the tunnel of leaves,
I write the light, the hope it weaves,
smooth grasses wave beneath the sun,
as if the battles fought are done.
In a single flight that soars, so free,
the winged words of swallows call to me.
They glide, they dive, through winds that play,
reminding me of brighter days.
And though the night may fall once more,
I hope the light within shall still restore.
Text & Musik: W. S. & MakeBestMusic
Arrangement: Werner Stangl, Linz
Deutscher Originaltext: Die Flügel der Erinnerung
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