Mists Of My Heart
The spiders of my oblivion
Are weaving walls of thread
Shaping pale hiding places
Veils of empty signs
I feel nothing but mists of my heart
I know nothing but mists of my heart
I feel nothing but mists of my heart
I know nothing but mists of my heart
I get closer - daring not to hope
Of course! They fly away
Trickeries of my memory
And not even illusions
Nothing to see on the fog-bank of my past
I'm striding through
Must I accept its refusal, its eternal withholding?
(Words: François, music: Simon)
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