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Calling all olive branches and laid off doves |
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There is work to do before we say goodbye |
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But 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 see their 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 he goes |
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And the tears which well beneath his 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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Whose beauty remains, even when the bloom goes |
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Oh, oh, one more chance |
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Or is it too late to change the ways we're bound to go |
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Is it too late, there's surely one of us must know |
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Is it too late to change the ways we're bound to go |
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Is it too late, there's surely one of us must know |
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Is it too late, there's surely one of us must know |
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Is it too late to change the ways we're bound to go |
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Is it too late, there's surely one of us must know |
