demasiado bela, é beirut

And I know when time will pass by slow
Without my heart what can I do?
You're in the halls
The bell gives way to a larger swell
Without my heart what can I do?
Oh, Wroclai

And we grow fat on the charms
Of our idle dreary dreams
Seen the shadows grow
Seen an ominous display
With no alarm
Could we say we'd have expected this way
Under stars have died
Give incent to play
Oh, Wroclai

Mount Wroclai (Idle Days), Beirut