Gustav
Hi, Hay, Hi, Hay, Heep
when the golden sun goes down
down here in stansfordlong
and the cornflakes over the fields
are singing the same sad song
and the old country road
does slowly disapier
behind the big black mountain
where the river flows till here
when the world is getting tired
and fall deeply asleep
i go back, back to my old cow
and hi, hay, hi, hay heep
when the golden sun goes down
down here in stansfordlong
and the popcorns over the fields
are mumming
the same sad song
and the noice of the brand new highway
does slowly increase
from behind the same black mountain
where the air moves like a brise
(Merci a Quentin pour cettes paroles)
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