What becomes of the young tree that sprouts when there is no rain, and where it gets no sun?
Of the night sky bereft of all bright stars?
Of silence where no voice is heard?
Of the schooner with no sails unfurled?
And of me if I can’t have your love?
No. No.
No, I could not live for a moment
I could never extinguish my pain.
To love or to die
For love is the soul of humanity
To love or to die
Sad for those who spend their lives in loneliness
With no one to breathe next to them
To love or to die there is no other choice.
What becomes of the streets of the city
If they’re always empty of crowds’ human warmth?
Of the birds without air to uplift them?
Of colorless flowers in drab garden plots?
And of me if I cannot surrender;
What becomes of me without love?
No. No.
No, I could not live for a moment
I could never extinguish my pain.
To love or to die
For love is the soul of humanity
To love or to die
Sad for those who spend their lives in loneliness With no one to breathe next to them
To love or to die there is no other choice.