"Pure Love" as written by Eric Bazilian, Adelmo Fornaciari, Alice Fornaciari and Irene Fornaciari....
If not tonight
This is the strangest feeling
Something I can't control
Do I play the fool for you?

If not tonight
Waiting forever
Just to see your face
Waiting is all that I seem to do.

Yeah puro amore
Will another night exist like this again?
Yeah solo amore
We will never get this moment back
Again?

If not tonight
Underneath the stars
Beneath the crescent
Sinking down into the sea
It's not the time
But I will wait forever
If this is what you want
Waiting could be the end of me

Yeah puro amore
Will another night exist like this again?
Yeah solo amore
We will never get this moment back
Again?

One day I will open your eyes
Underneath the stars
Beneath the crescent.

Yeah puro amore
Will another night exist like this again?
Yeah solo amore
We will never get this moment back
Again?

Yeah puro amore
Let it be with you tonight
There will never be a night?
If not tonight?

Tell me when, my love.


Lyrics submitted by sillybunny

"Pure Love" as written by Robert Uhlmann Labaf Zadeh Alex Rahim

Lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc., Universal Music Publishing Group

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Pure Love song meanings
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  • 0
    General CommentBy Joe Ceravolo

    The doll is sleeping
    Why is this home so hard?
    We run into the water
    Lice in heaven

    Ten o’clock—the class
    The show is stopping
    To tell us where to stop and eat and drink
    It comes out to us
    My pants are damp
    Is tonight treating us
    But not reaching through the window?

    Baby sleeps
    Sleeping on the cliff is dangerous
    See how her heart moves
    I stink and I know it
    Screw you.
    You’re right!
    I did drink my milk like a mother of wolves
    I love you
    No one should be mean
    They are
    Like a flower, little light
    You are open and we make believe
    Always holding you—because I love you
    And never stop
    sillybunnyon September 02, 2006   Link
  • 0
    General CommentI am delighted with my heart
    Although my circus animals are all on show
    (Those crazy boys, the burnished chariot
    lions and witches—and lord knows what!)
    When I had laid it on the floor
    I went to blow the fire aflame
    But something rustled on the moor
    And someone called me by my name
    She was a shimmering girl
    With little demons in her hair
    Who called me by name and ran
    And faded through the brightening air
    I will find out where she has gone
    And kiss her lips
    And take her hand
    And walk among long dappled grass
    And pluck—till time and times are done
    The silver apples of the moon
    The golden apples of the sun
    (Why, what could she have done being what she is?
    Was there another Troy for her to burn?)

    Sometimes love letters was the name I gave her
    She. Slightly crazed—had given her heart away
    But my blue heaven had intervened to save her
    While the fairy queen that rose out of the spray
    Said—better to smile on all that smiles
    And show there is a comfortable kind of scarecrow
    What a star sang and careless muses heard
    Old clothes upon old sticks to scare a bird
    And therefore my heart—is driven wild
    She stands before me—as a fairy child
    And binding down before the glowing bars
    He murmurs a little sadly—how love fled
    And pacing the mountains overhead
    He tries his luck among a crowd of stars

    William Butler—Billy Yeats—paraphrased
    sillybunnyon September 15, 2006   Link
  • 0
    General CommentThe night attendant, a studious sophomore
    Rouses from the mare’s nest of her drowsy head
    Propped on “The Meaning of Meaning.”

    Your nurse could only speak Italian
    But after 20 minutes
    I could imagine your “finals” week
    And tears ran down my cheeks

    She catwalks down our corridor
    Azure day
    Makes my agonized blue window bleaker
    Crows maunder on the petrified fairway
    Absence! My heart grows tense
    As though a harpoon were sparring for the kill
    (This seems, at times, a house for the mentally ill …)
    What use is my sense of humor?
    Three months. Three months. Three months!
    Is Lily now herself again?
    Dimpled with amusing exultation
    My sister holds court in her bathtub
    Our noses rub
    Spring moved to summer
    The rude, cold rain hurries the ambitious


    Robert Lowell—Waking in the Blue, Sailing Home From Rapallo and Home After Three Months Away [paraphrased]
    sillybunnyon September 30, 2006   Link

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