слова песни Sundays - Folk Song
summer sky and a throat bone dry
and the fields are all gold
dusty lane with a song in my brain
and it stoned me to my soul
I climb higher move towards the fire.....blaze sun
silver trees and a whispering breeze
are my sight and my sound
the thought of heaven couldnЎЇt drag me from the path
when IЎЇm wandering here alone
I climb higher move towards the fire.... so blaze sun