Hold On - William Fitzsimmons

We were proud and young

Broken fool with lovers' lungs

She the risen seed

Her the shallow breath I breathe

Like a dog I run

She the rabbit chased and won

Through a field of trees

Lost her way was lost on me

Should I hold on?

Should I hold on?

Summer’s end will call

She the rise and both will fall

To the cold return

And no longer for her I burn