green september burned to october brown
bare november led to decembers frozen ground
the seasons stumbled round our drifting lives are bound to a falling
crescent noon
feather clouds cry a vale of tears to earth
morning breaks and no one sees a quiet mountain bird
dressed in a brand new day the sun is on its way
to a falling crescent noon
somewhere in a fairy tale forest lies
one
answer that is waiting to be heard
you and i were born like the breaking day
all our seasons all our green septembers burn away
slowly well fade into the sea of midnight blue
and the falling crecent noon
Switch to Russian 
