What holy cities are to nomadic tribes - a symbol of race and a bond of union - great books are to the wandering souls of men: they are the Meccas of the mind.
G.E. Woodberry
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Biên tập viên
Sola
Some sign of forgiveness
Some form of release
Is all that she asks for
Is all that she needs
She waits for the day when
She feels more at ease
Some time to be careful
Some time left in peace
Cold stars of the future
Burn bright in the past
These moments of solace
They won't last
They don't last
You're wasting the moment
Biding your time
No one got ahead
Standing in line
So something is over
Before it's begun
So close you can taste it
But now it is gone
Cold stars of the future
Burn bright in the past
These moments of solace
They don't last
They cannot last
You're hoping for solace
Well, just look around
Everyone here is
Standing in line