The little red roses and the beautiful white lilies,
The dew clad leaves of the fern,
Don't you see,
A heart which blooms
At your sight,
When you whisper,
When you smile,
Don't you see, oh Linda
The longing, the passion and the tears.
Don't you see
This heart bleed at the sight
Of you with the wolf.
Don't you know of
He who comes from the city that never sleeps?
Voracious and cunning he is.
Yet you smile and laugh,
As he smooth-talks.
The wolf cares not for you,
You are but his innocent prey,
This heart longs to protect thee,
But has been shunned away.
Oh Linda, don't you see, don't you see?
