I love the forest and all
the forest flowers, hidden
under the fir – but I’m tied
to concretes and streets.
A man stuck at a production line
and shifts, it all becomes work,
sleep and eat – and a dream
of love that’s here not gone.
If I could sing I would sing for you
love songs that could fly like free
birds in the sky, here and
But you don’t want my songs, but
me on a jet plane to you, easy
coming like a bird fly in sky,
here and but not gone.
But what if your dream is a trap
that’ll snap us both? Because what
we want apart, is where we are and
not gone where the other is.