اصل بول
ENترجمہ ابھی دستیاب نہیں۔ اصل بول دکھائے جا رہے ہیں۔
Oh my dear what have we here
Seven fifty five
Oversleeping children sprawled
Schoolbus at the drive
We burn the toast we howl and wail
And so begin the race
But i could never turn my back
On this imperfect grace.
Some days rosy some days bad
Some just very strange
People grow and people leave
And never know they change
I'd like to hold them under glass
When everything's in place
But i could never interrupt
This imperfect grace.
Let the legislation lay
For things i cannot change
Let the chords fall where they may
I will not complain
I'd like to trip where angels tread
And ask them to embrace
And help me never take for granted
This imperfect grace.
