There is a temperate zone in the mind, between luxurious indolence and exacting work; and it is to this region, just between laziness and labor, that summer reading belongs.
Henry Ward Beecher
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It's Impossible
It's impossible, tell the sun to leave the sky
It's just impossible
It's impossible, ask a baby not to cry
It's just impossible
Can I hold you closer to me
And not feel you going through me?
Split the second that I never think of you
Oh, how impossible
Can the ocean keep from rushing to the shore?
It's just impossible
If I had you, could I ever run for more?
It's just impossible
And tomorrow, should you ask me for the world
Somehow I'd get it, I would sell my very soul
And not regret it for to live without your love
Is just impossible
Can the ocean keep from rushing to the shore?
It's just impossible
If I had you, could I ever run for more?
It's just impossible
And tomorrow, should you ask me for the world
Somehow I'd get it, I would sell my very soul
And not regret it for to live without your love
Is just impossible, impossible, impossible