dreaming fields But what will be my harvest now? Where every tear that falls on a memory feels Like rain on a rusted plow, rain on a rusted plow And these fields
dreaming fields But what will be my harvest now Where every tear that falls on a memory Feels like rain on the rusted plow Rain on the rusted plow And these fields
Traducción: Yearwood, Trisha. Campos Dreaming.
the dreaming fields But what will be my harvest now Where every tear that falls on a memory Feels like rain on the rusted plow Rain on the rusted plow And these fields