|
|
Auth |
The |
hills |
are |
a- |
live |
with |
the |
sound |
of |
mus- |
ic, |
with |
songs |
they |
have |
sung |
for |
a |
thous- |
and |
years |
The |
hills |
fill |
my |
heart |
with |
the |
sound |
of |
mus- |
ic. |
My |
heart |
wants |
to |
sing |
ev- |
ry |
song |
it |
hears |
My |
heart |
wants |
to |
beat |
like |
the |
wings |
of |
the |
birds |
that |
rise |
from |
the |
lake |
to |
the |
trees. |
My |
heart |
wants |
to |
sigh |
like |
a |
chime |
that |
flies |
from |
a |
church |
on |
a |
breeze, |
to |
laugh |
like |
a |
brook |
when |
it |
trips |
and |
falls |
ov- |
er |
stones |
on |
its |
way, |
to |
sing |
though |
the |
night |
like |
a |
lark |
who |
is |
learn- |
ing |
to |
pray. |
I |
go |
to |
the |
hills |
when |
my |
heart |
is |
lone- |
ly. |
I |
know |
I |
will |
hear |
what |
I've |
heard |
be- |
fore |
My |
heart |
will |
be |
blessed |
with |
the |
sound |
of |
mus- |
ic, |
and |
I'll |
sing |
once |
more. |
| Louis K. Thomas <louisth@hotmail.com> | Auth | 2002-04-27 (2276 days ago) |