The leaves are clinging on despite the rain
They block my light I thought I had made that plain
But god does not obey me when I ask
It’s not so match a message, it’s a fist
The tree in November
Published
The leaves are clinging on despite the rain
They block my light I thought I had made that plain
But god does not obey me when I ask
It’s not so match a message, it’s a fist
How my heart sings 