Sand - Op8

Young woman, share your fire with me

My heart is cold, my soul is free

I am a stranger in your land

A wandering man, call me sand

Oh sir, my fire is very small

It will not warm thy heart at all

But thee may take me by the hand

Hold me, and I’ll call thee sand

Young woman, share your fire with me

My heart is cold, my soul is free

I am a stranger in your land

Wandering, call me sand

At night when stars light up my sky

Oh sir, I dream my fire is high

Oh, taste these lips sir if you can

Wandering man, I’ll call thee sand

Oh sir, my fire is burning high

If thee should stop sir, I would die

The shooting star has crossed my land

Wandering man, she whispered… Sand (sand)

Young woman shared her fire with me

Now warms herself with memories

I was a stranger in her land

A wandering man, she called me sand

He was a stranger in my land

A wandering man

She called me

Sand