Huub de Lange - The Fly - текст песни (слова)

Little Fly,
 Thy summer's play
 My thoughtless hand
 Has brushed away.
 
 Am not I
 A fly like thee?
 Or art not thou
 A man like me?
 
 For I dance
 And drink and sing,
 Till some blind hand
 Shall brush my wing.
 
 If thought is life
 And strength and breath,
 And the want
 Of thought is death,
 
 Then am I
 A happy fly,
 If I live
 Or if I die.