My Love, she was a dancer.

Et digt, der kom til mig da jeg forleden aften hørte Celtic Woman (som alle forresten burde have kendskab til) og begyndte at tegne som følge af deraf. Tegningen blev dog ikke så fantastisk, digtet blev derimod okay. NB: Det skal lige siges at jeg er meget i tvivl om hvorvidt der skal stå 'Someone' eller 'Somebody' i tredje strofe, andet vers.

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1. My love, she was a dancer.

 

My love, she was a dancer

Danced through the night of her life

With closed eyes and dreaming mind

She floated like sea, like light

So pretty it hurted my eyes.

 

My love, she was a dreamer

Lost somewhere between etenity and past

With wounds and scars inside

That not even onws own imagination

Will ever be able to heal.

 

My love, she is dying

Someone cut off her feet

So now she can't dance like the dream

Taken from her, like the candle fore her face

Stolen in shadows mist.

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