Autumn leaves
scattered under my feet
like funeral flowers.

Dead man keeps following me
and asking for a spare life.
I wish I had one for myself.
That would be lot of fun.

Dead man keeps following me
and asking for a spare life.
He looks a bit disappointed,
he knows he stalks the wrong guy.

I overheard this whisper,
this gentle, peaceful chat:
Look, happiness is easy,
it's them, who make it hard.

I'm a poet,
I have nothing
except words.

I'm a poet,
I don't care about
the world.

Take your money,
take your cars
take your pearls.

I'm a poet,
I don't care about
the world.

Well, yeah, sometimes
I wish I was
someone else.

But I'm a poet,
poets can't escape
their Fate.

The architects
of their own
demise.

Full time poets
don't exist.
In this world
at least.

There is plenty of them
on the other side.
It’s only for us
it seems that they have died.

Yellow leaves
falling
from the trees.

The quiet river
isn't calling my name -
it's calling me.