I labour, hands in dirt, hot sun on my back. All I have to offer is my heart, in this month of your zodiac. It’s the first day of the week, the sun is beginning to set. I search for words and metaphors, yet your lips, the goal i’ve set.
When the Soul Cried Out for Meaning
I labour, hands in dirt, hot sun on my back. All I have to offer is my heart, in this month of your zodiac. It’s the first day of the week, the sun is beginning to set. I search for words and metaphors, yet your lips, the goal i’ve set.