It must be a little love, - a baby, sort of, It shies away when the cars honk and hiss, But adores the bells on the horse-tram.
āĻāĻŽāĻžāĻ° āĻšā§āĻĻā§ā§āĻ° āĻā§āĻ°, āĻ¯ā§ āĻ¤āĻžāĻ° āĻ¸āĻŽāĻ¸ā§āĻ¤āĻāĻŋāĻā§ āĻāĻŋāĻ¨āĻ¤āĻžāĻ āĻāĻ°ā§āĻā§, āĻ¯ā§ āĻāĻŽāĻžāĻ° āĻāĻ¤ā§āĻŽāĻžāĻā§ āĻĒā§ā§āĻ¨ āĻāĻ°ā§ āĻāĻŋāĻ¤ā§āĻ¤āĻŦāĻŋāĻā§āĻ°āĻŽ āĻāĻāĻŋā§ā§āĻā§, āĻā§āĻ°āĻšāĻŖ āĻāĻ°ā§, āĻĒā§āĻ°āĻŋā§āĻ¤āĻŽāĻž, āĻāĻ āĻāĻĒāĻšāĻžāĻ°-- āĻāĻ° āĻāĻāĻ¨āĻ, āĻšā§āĻ¤ā§, āĻāĻŽāĻŋ āĻ āĻ¨ā§āĻ¯āĻāĻŋāĻā§ āĻ¸āĻŽā§āĻĒāĻ°ā§āĻā§ āĻāĻžāĻŦāĻŦā§ āĻ¨āĻž āĨ¤ . āĻāĻ āĻĻāĻŋāĻ¨āĻāĻŋāĻā§ āĻāĻā§āĻŦāĻ˛ āĻā§āĻāĻŋāĻ° āĻĻāĻŋāĻ¨ā§ āĻ°āĻžāĻāĻŋā§ā§ āĻĻāĻžāĻ āĨ¤ āĻšā§ āĻā§āĻ°ā§āĻļāĻŦāĻŋāĻĻā§āĻ§āĻ¸āĻŽ āĻāĻ¨ā§āĻĻā§āĻ°āĻāĻžāĻ˛, āĻ¤ā§āĻŽāĻžāĻ° āĻ¸ā§āĻˇā§āĻāĻŋ āĻŦāĻāĻžā§ āĻ°āĻžāĻā§ āĨ¤ āĻ¯ā§āĻŽāĻ¨āĻāĻž āĻĻā§āĻāĻā§-- āĻļāĻŦā§āĻĻāĻžāĻŦāĻ˛ā§āĻ° āĻĒā§āĻ°ā§āĻāĻā§āĻā§āĻ āĻāĻŽāĻžāĻā§ āĻāĻžāĻāĻā§ āĻāĻŋāĻāĻĨā§ āĻĻāĻžāĻ āĨ¤
But I have tamed myself I have stomped on the throat of my own song
Our planet is poorly equipped for delight. One must snatch gladness from the days that are. In this life it's not difficult to die. To make life is more difficult by far.
Love for us is no paradise of arbors â to us love tells us, humming, that the stalled motor of the heart has started to work again.
On Iâll pass, dragging my huge love behind me. On what feverish night, deliria-ridden, by what Goliaths was I begot â I, so big and by no one needed?
