Dalszveg: When the last eagle flies over the last crumbling mountain And the last lion roars at the last dusty fountain In the shadow of the forest though she may be old and worn They will stare unbelieving at the last unicorn
When the first breath of winter through the flowers is icing And you look to the north and a pale moon is rising And it seems like all is dying and would leave the world to mourn In the distance hear the laughter of the last unicorn
I'm alive, I'm alive
When the last moon is cast over the last star of morning And the future has passed without even a last desperate warning Then look into the sky where through the clouds a path is formed Look and see her how she sparkles, it's the last unicorn.
AJÁNLOM AZ OLDALT
