Sleeping or waking, we hear not the airy footsteps of the strange things that almost happen.
Nathaniel Hawthorne, from “David Swan, A Fantasy” in Twice-Told Tales (Vol. 1, 1837).
So we go inside and we gravely read the stones
All those people, all those lives
Where are they now?
With loves and hates and passions just like mine
They were born, and then they lived
And then they died
Seems so unfair, I want to cry
So we go inside and we gravely read the stones
All those people, all those lives
Where are they now?
With loves and hates and passions just like mine
They were born, and then they lived
And then they died
Seems so unfair, I want to cry
Merry Kringle!
Merry Kringle!
And a butter pie (a butter pie?)
And a butter pie (a butter pie?)