Little fly
Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
Little fly...
For I dance
And drink and sing
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing
I thought is life
And strength and breath
And the want
Of thought is death
Little fly...
Then am I
A happy fly
If I live
Or if I die
© 2024 Cloverlyrics.com