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They sang of fire, life and love.
Oh, once I sang of the sirloin,.
They strummed guitars and sang of it.
"They sang of jealousy, love and loss.
They sang of nothing but expectancy.
Almost every dish sang of authenticity.
Similar(7)
And there is singing, of a sort.
I sing of bicyclists, buffoons and boredom.
Rather, it sings of possibility.
I sing of the Barbe-cue.
They leave the garret, singing of love.
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Justyna Jupowicz-Kozak
CEO of Professional Science Editing for Scientists @ prosciediting.com