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Calling all olive branches and laid-off doves |
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There is work to do before we say good-bye |
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And who can see them turning to the face of love? |
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Though I hear them pleading with me, "Don't let us die" |
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As I sit, I can hear the troubled souls wander by |
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And I feel them leaning on my shoulder to cry |
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Oh one more chance |
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Naked tree of winter seems to stand so proud |
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Lording the poor mortal as it goes |
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And the tears which well beneath the somber shroud |
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Will they fall with the shame of somebody who knows? |
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He can never be like the thought of a rose |
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Who beauty remains even when the bloom goes |
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Oh one more chance |
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Or is it too late |
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To change the way we're bound to go? |
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Or is it too late? |
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Surely one of us must know |
