A vagrant singing, carrying his precious cartload, a sleeping girl:
With you beside me,
Living, sleeping in my cart;
Right there’s my palace, my paradise.
With you beside me,
Am I King.
Am I King.
The richest man seems poor to me.
The girl is mumbling in her sleep:
With you beside me,
Am I honored as a queen of queens.
With you beside me,
Hell doesn’t terrify me,
Nor do I wish to go to heaven
Save with you.
December 2010
July 2012
July 2012
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