Forma Tadre - For Annie
Thank heaven the crisis
The danger is past
And the lingering illness
Is over at last
And the fever called living
Is conquered at last
Sadly I know
I am shorn of my strength
And no muscle I move
As I lie at full length
But not matter I feel
I am better at length
And I rest so composedly
Now in my bed
That any beholder
Might fancy me dead
The moaning and groaning
The sighing and sobbing
Are quieted now
With that horrible throbbing
That burned in my brain
All that horrible throbbing
The sickness, the nausea
The pitiless pain
Thank heaven the crisis
The danger is past
Thank heaven the crisis
Is over at last
Thank heaven the crisis
The danger is past
And the lingering illness
Is over at last
And the fever called living
Is conquered at last
Sadly I know
And I'm shorn of my strength
No muscle I move
As I lie at full length
But not matter I feel
I am better at length
And I rest so composedly
Now in my bed
That any beholder
Might fancy me dead
The moaning and groaning
The sighing and sobbing
Are quieted now
With that horrible throbbing
That burned in my brain
All that horrible throbbing
The sickness, the nausea
The pitiless pain
Thank heaven the crisis
The danger is past
Thank heaven the crisis
Is over at last
Written by:
Claude Conique, Edgar Poe
Publisher:
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, O/B/O DistroKid, Mute Song Limited, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
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