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In my mind's eyes |
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I see the path |
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To the gates of child's land |
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Fluffy moss under my feet |
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My hair talking with the wind |
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Drops of rain which have just fallen down |
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Like the pearls on conweb's cover |
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I ask who we are |
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The candle lights |
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Waiting for unquiet wind |
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A crooled mirror of space |
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A handful of ash which wants to |
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Become the diamond |
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Although the |
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Time is mocking at us o openly |
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He is laughing at us |
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Setting its face against us |
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We are not able |
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To rule over the current of his stream |
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In my mind's eyes |
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I see the trees |
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Which are trying to touch the sky |
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With their whispering arms |
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Old tales are being told by the bird |
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Just opening the arms is enough |
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To be soared up by the wind |
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Although the |
|
Time is mocking at us o openly |
|
He is laughing at us |
|
Setting its face against us |
|
We are not able |
|
To rule over the current of his stream |
|
The Nature answers |
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We are what we believe |
