Bad winds... Small breeze... Hol-low ice... Au-tumns now shall shine... O-ceans... Move-less e-ven-ti-i-ide... Far a-way from sight... From the moon-light bring up dreams Straight from hands to thee Old born town On the s-tre-e-ets Nights, Games, Fan-ta-sy My dreams and thoughts and fa-ate The balance's at your feet Oh an-gel born too la-ate, For fore-man to meet For live with emo-tions must I dream to think you're mine What pu-ri-ty I've lost so ten-der as the wine In what mu-se senses froze this? Could the lights feel weak? But dreams are far to me-ee, The balance's at your feet Oh an-gel born too la-ate, For fallen men to meet What pu-re emo-tions must I dream to think you're mine What pu-ri-ty I've lost so ten-der, I should find... A-round my care-less world, I dre-e-eam to think you're mine What pu-ri-ty I've lost, so ten-der and di-vine? What pu-ri-ty I've lost !oh the-e-ee! to think you're mine Do-own to the fal-ling leaves that are brok-ened throught the dance A-round my care-less words I'd dre-am to think you're mine Oh! What a pu-ri-ty I-'ve lo-o-o-o-ost...