Don't follow the wind when she blows by your cradle bed.
She'll pick you up and leave you lying dead.
And you won't remember the view
because you were too young to notice she grew bored of you.
We became the ants trapped in the sky.
The ground as our witness; building clouds to pass the time
Feel the cool of the rain
but do not imitate the droplets fall between your eyelid pains
or tie paperweights to your kin
before the knock lets herself creep in
As years grow heavy, your conscious will slip
to the ground that you kiss with dry, blue lips
And the chimes will sing a lullaby
Forever spent flying, but you only have so little time.
"hey, do you want to go fly kites?"