en face d'une terrasse de bistro Pis lui est mort au bout d' son dard, le corps poilu contre ma peau Quand on rencontre quoi qu' ce soit muni d'un dard
sau dard hain,sau rahatein sab mila dilnashin ek tuhi nahieeeeee rukhi rukhi si yeh hawa aur sukhe patte ki tarah shehar ki,sadko pe main lawaris, udta
Traduction: Om Shanti Om (Sukhwinder Singh). Darde Disco.
el mar. Lanzo mi cometa contra el cielo y, cuando se descama el azul, las sombras son espejos donde antes habia luz. Volvamos a ser Dardo y Alicia,
can't stand it for another day When you live so many miles away Nothing here is gonna make me stay, You took me over, let me find a way I sold my
Yea, I'll walk unscathed through musket fire No ploughman's blade will cut thee down No cutlass wound will mar thy face And you will be my ain true love
Though I've tried before to tell her Of the feelings I have for her in my heart Every time that I come near her I just lose my nerve As I've done from
Now that I have found you In the coolth of your evening smile The shade of your parasol And your love flows through me Though I drink at your pool I burn
The angel Gabriel from heaven came His wings as drifted snow His eyes as flame "All hail" said he "thou lowly maiden Mary, Most highly favoured lady
A soul, a soul cake, please good missus a soul cake. An apple, a pear, a plum, a cherry, any good thing to make us all merry, A soul, a soul cake, please
1. There is no rose of such virtue As is the rose that bare Jesu; Alleluia. 2. For in this rose contained was Heaven and earth in little space;
Oh the snow it melts the soonest when the winds begin to sing And the corn it ripens fastest when the frosts are setting in, And when a woman tells me
This place has changed for good Your economic theory said it would It's hard for us to understand We can't give up our jobs the way we should Our blood
Lo, how a Rose e'er blooming From tender stem hath sprung! Of Jesse's lineage coming, As those of old have sung. It came, a floweret bright, Amid the
(Music by Henry Purcell, Lyrics by John Dryden) What power art thou, Who from below, Hast made me rise, Unwillingly and slow, From beds of everlasting
(Poem by Robert Louis Stevenson, arranged by Sting) All day we tacked and tacked between the South Head and the North; All day we hauled the frozen sheets