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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