In a meadow I have vanished, Between oaks and daisies And the old and beloved grasshoppers. Sounds that embrace me, The wind chases the fragrance of morning, My days of obey.
I breathe in the book all I'll ever be: Out, floating, touching the yellow blood-flowers, To the beat of my, of my whisper.
Shall I ever rise above, Make a detachment, So that the tweaks crack and the growing stocks Get bowled up by the ruins? The strength, the strength of this moment Is like morning dew, morning dew, Drops that filled green veins like crystal-clear blood. And I wait all day who slept In the meadow tonight, This cold night.