Be mine, sweet angel
Drop that wooden spoon and
Run away with me.
No riches, no gold,
But a pair of gypsies
On the road.
Forget the kids, take off that apron
We shall twirl to the rythm
Of our bell-bound anklets.
Be free, stay free;
And listen closely
To what your heart's whispering.
My love, my angel,
My girl in the red dress by the stove
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment