Across the land.
Stirring grass,
And dunes of sand.
Into the air.
Without a thought,
Without a care.
The land's so new.
Fresh and clean,
And made for you.
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| The Storm | ||||||||||||||||||
| The storm that rages, Across the land. Stirring grass, And dunes of sand. |
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| Takes them high, Into the air. Without a thought, Without a care. |
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| When storms abate, The land's so new. Fresh and clean, And made for you. |
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| Copyright Dreambeliever 2001 | ||||||||||||||||||
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