Paroles

Cynical Sense - Portraits of Happy Times (12) Summer Sea

Done is the short dark day
Now here's the first smell of ashes
The loosened ice breaks away
The dreadful water flashes.
Seaward a mountain rides,
And down its green sides,
A foamy torrent dashes.

My ship is moored for thee
By the deep ocean's floor
It will skim the sea
Drifting amongst fears we ignore
We'll go on this tiny island,
Where the sun warms the sand
Resting light heads beside the shore.

Or I'll wait for you where the four winds blow,
With flowers colored and fair,
While upon an isle of snow,
I'd imagine your floating hair.

And when red skies and burning clouds
Will bespeak the end of summer
And when mountains will wear shrouds
Of snow that melt no more,
We will settle down our sailing minds
And with Love may our winter midnights be bind.