All flowers in time bend towards the sun, I know you say there's no one for you, But here is one.
My sun sets to rise again.
My sun sets to raise again.
The thing about being in America is when you are driving with the sun on your back, there's hip hop. I never used to be into hip hop, but there's hip hop in the food, soul food, there's hip hop in the cars.
Unfortunately, the young generation, who I believe have their own place in the sun like I had mine; but I wish it was possible there were other ways to have them understand this music was here before they came, and the reason that it was here.
Yet another proposal would have us rocket the waste into the sun, but, as you're probably aware, about one in ten of our space shots doesn't quite make it out of the earth's gravitational field.
For how many people do you think might yet stand on this planet before the sun grows cold? That's the responsibility we hold in our hands.
Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.
When the sun comes up, I have morals again.
Yet would we die as some have done, beating a way for the rising sun.
If I had to choose a religion, the sun as the universal giver of life would be my god.
On vacations: We hit the sunny beaches where we occupy ourselves keeping the sun off our skin, the saltwater off our bodies, and the sand out of our belongings.
Cricket to us was more than play, it was a worship in the summer sun.
My mother was a modern woman with a limited interest in religion. When the sun set and the fast of the Day of Atonement ended, she shot from the synagogue like a rocket to dance the Charleston.
Lives in eternity's sun rise.