When she tells the wind her story
She sees not that the clouds gather to hear
When she tells the wind her story
She knows not that the mountains bow down to be near
When she tells the wind her story
She sees not that the clouds gather to hear
When she tells the wind her story
She knows not that the mountains bow down to be near
When she tells the wind her story
When she tells the wind her story
Beauty becomes her as if she was the reason for the word
Yet unto to herself her beauty is a song she’s never heard
All alone she cries in a prison of doubt
Begging for the key but only she can let herself out
Lisa Renee
Lisa Renee
Lisa Renee
Lisa Renee
When she tells the wind her story
She sees not that the clouds gather to hear
When she tells the wind her story
She knows not that the mountains bow down to be near
When she tells the wind her story
She sees not that the clouds gather to hear
When she tells the wind her story
She knows not that the mountains bow down to be near
When she tells the wind her story
When she tells the wind her story
When she tells the wind her story
Her dance can put fire to shame
One of her tears is a million nights of rain
Her laugh makes the sun to shine brighter
Her cry, the moon to wain
And still to her love thyself is a song from a foreign tongue
From a land where songs are never ever ever sung.
Lisa Renee
Lisa Renee
Lisa Renee
Lisa Renee
When she tells the wind her story
She sees not that the clouds gather to hear
When she tells the wind her story
She knows not that the mountains bow down to be near
When she tells the wind her story
She sees not that the clouds gather to hear
When she tells the wind her story
She knows not that the mountains bow down to be near
When she tells the wind her story
When she tells the wind her story
Joined by musicians from Venezuela, London, and Paris, the bassist creates a vibrant picture of Venezuela’s musical landscape, and the people and communities that keep it alive. Bandcamp Album of the Day Oct 22, 2020