گیت کے بول کے نقاط
ENاصل بول
ترجمہ ابھی دستیاب نہیں۔ اصل بول دکھائے جا رہے ہیں۔
The logs at the fireplace
Burn warmth to the breeze
Of my thoughts
As they wander around
Closed down
To me.
As the hours turn and fall
And the warmth weakens
Decends like a cracked
Voices moan.
My thoughts get weak
And cold hope
Rises and falls
When the last glow flies:
