Текст песни kumsudae - summer of skulls

William Blake

THE FLY

---------

Little Fly,
Thy summer''s play
My thoughtless hand
Has brush''d 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.