There is a tree now desolate
where once the song bird sung.
Gone silent, Gone silent.
Still on the walls of memory she hangs;
A portrait shattered but still treasured,
Still in the air her sweet voice echoes ,
Oh,may be its just my imagination.
Gone silent. Gone silent
Some say she left with summer
In quest for winter,
For she loved green and fresh pastures,
And flowers fresh from their buds.
Some say she left with the night,
Gone in heaven where it is always day
And there is no night there.
All the priest said was she is in abetter place
And rests in grace.
I imagine she hangs with the stars,
You can easily single her out in the morning;
The brightest morning star.
I imagine she turned into the sun
and each morning rises to dry dew;
tears of the earth shed for her,
But they are shed again after dusk!!
Gone silent, Gone silent...
nothing can make up for! that.
