On whose banks I sit and muse,
Whose currents carries a thousand dreams,
A thousand hopes and sighs.
It's to me a river of Tears,
A river of Prayers,
A river in which I struggle to swim.
If I were to write a song on Life,
It will be a deary dirge,
That's sung in wails by howling winds,
Tearing through dark woods of uncertain fate.
There is a raging black river I like,
On whose banks I sit and muse,
Whose currents carries a thousand dreams,
A thousand hopes and sighs.
It's to me a river of Tears,
A river of Prayers,
A river in which I struggle to swim.