How the god is mixed in
|
The evil it does blend
|
In this drink that we all taste.
|
And when the bottle is gone
|
I hope I can look upon
|
All that I¡¯ve done with a smile
|
And bright and overflowing eyes,
|
Reflecting upon all they¡¯ve seen
|
With the same glow as the
|
Child born March 8th 1977.
|
Please make my arrow shoot straight
|
I¡¯m tired of all the shots that missed
|
It¡¯s one thing that I won¡¯t miss
|
Betrayal in a kiss.
|
When I finally hit my target
|
There were four hands that held the bow
|
And I realized I am not alone
|
I am not the only archer
|
Not alone with crooked arrows
|
Not alone with these crooked arrows.
|
|
-----------------
|
Spanish Quartet
|
| Waxwing |
