(Folk) ’Come this way, there’s no mud here,
And there are no locks on my door.
It’s always open, so come inside,
I have a bed in here, lie down.’
I know very well the trees don’t tell their stories,
They won’t tell us what hurts anymore.
They should start lying, but your mouth doesn’t speak of this.
Where has the passion gone?
Where’s the passion gone?
That lived inside of you,
Where’s the passion gone?
Hey, How many summers will come?
All those sweet adventures.
Hey, do you still need more lust?
(Folk)’ Let my sweet rose heighten you to the bed
Let me put my right hand on your behind
I won’t do anything abusive
I’ll loosen my pant’s after midnight.’ |
