Comfort and Joy

God rest ye merry gentlemen

Let nothing you dismay

Remember Christ our Savior

Was born on Christmas day

To save us all from Satan's power

When we had gone astray

Oh tidings of comfort and joy

Comfort and joy

Oh tidings of comfort and joy

Comfort and joy

Only Time

Who can say where the road goes 

Where the day flows
Only time 

And who can say if your love grows 

As your heart chose
Only time 

Who can say why your heart sighs 

As your love flies
Only time 

And who can say why your heart cries 

When your love lies
Only time 

Who can say when the roads meet 

That love might be in your heart 

And who can say when the day sleeps 

If the night keeps all your heart 

Night keeps all your heart 

Who can say if your love grows 

As your heart chose 

Only time 

And who can say where the road goes 

Where the day flows
Only time 

Who knows? Only time

Center of the Sun

Young girl in the market
Used to the men
When the men leave
Her eyes are red
When her eyes are closed again
She sees the dark market on they buy their eat

And she sings:
'They say the most horrible things
But I hear violins,
When I close my eyes
I am at the center of the sun
And I cannot be hurt
By anything this wicked world has done'

Young boy in the market
Follows all the men
When the men leave
He's out of his head
When his eyes are closed again
He sees the dark market on they buy their eat

And he sings:
'They break the most beautiful things
But I hear violins,
When I close my eyes
I am at the center of the sun
And I cannot be hurt
By anything this wicked world has done
I look into your eyes
And I am at the center of the sun
And I cannot be hurt
By anything this wicked world has done'

Young boy in the market
Sees the girl alone
And asks her:
'Have you lost your way home?'
She sings:
'You say the most beautiful things,
Just like my violins'

I look into your eyes
I am at the center of the sun
And I cannot be hurt
By anything this wicked world has done

When I close my eyes
I am at the center of the sun
And I cannot be hurt
By anything this wicked world has done

Pene d'Amor Perdute

Non desidero una Rosa a Natale 

più di quanto possa desiderar 

la Neve a maggio: 

d'ogni cosa mi piace che maturi 

quand’è la sua stagione.

W. Shakespeare