| What you see is what you say, close your eyes, break in the day
|
| Wind is blowing from the east where the day is born and ceased
|
| Please be kind, draw the dreams you found in the morning trace
|
| Draw the lines, draw the brown eyes and the foreign place
|
| Draw the pines and the forest thighs and the magic face
|
| Sun that rises it waits a while it will give you space
|
| Seasons die, they become the rhymes of the memories
|
| Summer nights and the fears that thrive through the winter rains
|
| What you see is what you say close your eyes, break in the day
|
| Wind is blowing from the east where the day is born and ceased
|
| Aspen groves where the northern winds bring the wintery glow
|
| Spiders crawl where the willow limbs sagging down so low
|
| Draw the pines and the forest thighs and the magic trace
|
| Sun that rises it waits a while it will give you space
|
| Seasons die, they become the rhymes of the memories
|
| Summer nights and the fears that thrive through the winter rains
|
| These autumn days are long and grim, the gap between the real and dreamt
|
| These autumn days are long and grim, the gap between the real and dreamt
|
| Dreamed porcelain dolls with weird smiles were holding giant butterflies
|
| Dreamed porcelain dolls with weird smiles were holding giant butterflies |