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tun Sie die Jungen und Mädchen gehen noch
lassen Sie uns Pity die, denen besser seien Sie weg von, als wir sind
hören Sie
ihr schönes Haar
in den mournful Zahlen
mit dem Sonnenuntergang
Sie sagen, daß Sie mich lieben
ich liebe, eine Weile weg zu stehlen
ich stehe im kalten grauen Wetter
Gott
ich singe Ihnen
im September
das Emporheben, als der Wind brannte durch
geben Sie mich

 



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