Should I fall out of love, my fire in the night,
to chase a feather in the wind;
within the glow that weaves a cloak of delight
there moves a thread that has no end.
For many hours and days that pass ever soon,
the tides have caused the flame to dim.
At last the arm is straight, the hand to the loom.
Is this to end or just begin?
All of my love, all of my love, oh,
all of my love to you, now.
All of my love, all of my love,
all of my love to you, now.
The cup is raised, the toast is maade yet again;
one voice is clear above the din.
Proud Arian one word, my will to sustain.
For me, the cloth once more to spin. Oh.
All of my love, all of my love, oh,
all of my love to you, now.
All of my love, all of my love,
all of my love to you, now.
Yours is the cloth, mine is the hand that sews time,
his is the force that lies within.
Ours is the fire, all the warmth we can find.
He is a feather in the wind. Oh.
All of my love, all of my love, oh,
all of my love to you, now.
All of my love, all of my love,
all of my love to you, now.
