(Carla Bruni / Carla Bruni)
Come, let me sing into your ear;
Those dancing days are gone,
All that silk and satin gear;
Crouch upon a stone,
Wrapping that foul body up
In as foul a rag:
I carry the sun in a golden cup.
The moon in a silver bag.
Curse as you may I sing it through;
What matter if the knave
That the most could pleasure you,
The children that he gave,
Are somewhere sleeping like a top
Under a marble flag?
I carry the sun in a golden cup.
The moon in a silver bag.
I thought it out this very day.
Noon upon the clock,
A man may put pretence away
Who leans upon a stick,
May sing, and sing until he drop,
Whether to maid or hag:
I carry the sun in a golden cup,
The moon in a silver bag.
Другие названия этого текста
- Carla Bruni - Those Dancing Days Are Gone (3)
- сarla bruni - those dancin' days are gone (0)
- Послушай и улыбнись Алесь - *** (0)
- Тан 2 медляк - Carla Bruni Those dancing days are gone (0)
- Relax music_Carla Bruni - Those dancing days are gone (0)
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