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Enya
Bæta við mynd!
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ExileMeð því að: Enya |
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51079 ↑+2308 |
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Enya » Exile |
Cold as the northern winds, in December mornings. Cold is the cry that rings, from this far distant shove.
Winter has come too late. Too close beside me. How can I chase away all these fears deep inside.
Course: I'll wait the singns to come. I'll find a way. I will wait the time to come. I'll find a way home.
My light shall be the moon and my path - the ocean. My guide - the morning star, as I sail home to you.
Course
Who then can warm my soul? Who can quell my passion? Out of these dreams - a boat. I will sail home to you.
more free lyrics
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Þær athugasemdir... |
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