Long lay the moss,
upon the old tree,
much like a life,
full of misery.
It's hard to remove,
but we must try,
to improve our lot,
when cows fly.
A silly word,
perhaps, one or two,
but who cares anymore,
it's probably not you.
Long lay the moss,
upon the old tree,
much like a life,
full of misery.
It's hard to remove,
but we must try,
to improve our lot,
when cows fly.
A silly word,
perhaps, one or two,
but who cares anymore,
it's probably not you.