Let him go to his not-too-long-ago seen master
Early morning I look up at the sky
Fine pocket knife, the rough-bread is being cut
Little calf's trouble has also been cut here
Early morning I look at the sky
My little angel
So he, she is listening to the whooshing of the rain
Let him go to his not-too-long-ago seen master
Early morning I look at the sky
There is a bird, who will carry away
My little angel
I am buried in it alive, alive
I am turning yellow, heavily
Mommy (meaning 'wife'), I will write when I am free
My little angel
So he is listening to the whooshing of the rain
There is a bird, who will carry away
My little angel
Early morning I look upward at the sky
So he is listening to the whooshing of the rain
There is a bird, who will carry away
Let him go to his not-too-long-ago seen master
So he is listening to the whooshing of the rain Let him go to his not-too-long-ago seen master Early morning I look up at the sky Fine pocket knife, the rough-bread is being cut Little calf's trouble has also been cut here Early morning I look at the sky My little angel So he, she is listening to the whooshing of the rain Let him go to his not-too-long-ago seen master Early morning I look at the sky There is a bird, who will carry away My little angel I am buried in it alive, alive I am turning yellow, heavily Mommy (meaning 'wife'), I will write when I am free My little angel So he is listening to the whooshing of the rain There is a bird, who will carry away My little angel Early morning I look upward at the sky So he is listening to the whooshing of the rain There is a bird, who will carry away Let him go to his not-too-long-ago seen master Explain Request ×
Lyrics taken from
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