The old theatre is haunted
With worn velvets notes of melody
And in its tarnished brass door handles
Trombone ghosts can play
The lights flick on and off in hues only known by moonlight
And raining down like rose petals are the pattered chords of memory
With worn velvets notes of melody
And in its tarnished brass door handles
Trombone ghosts can play
The lights flick on and off in hues only known by moonlight
And raining down like rose petals are the pattered chords of memory
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.