As I sit while watching the sky,
my imagination glorifies my desire to fly.
I lean down on this ancient tree,
watching the birds as they fly worry-free.

I watch a brook as it slowly flows,
its cold water completed by a crystal glow.
I feel its coldness seep through my skin,
a coldness purer than the arctic wind.

I see the Sun slowly slipping away
going back to its everlasting grave.
I'll see it tomorrow high up in the sky,
revived again as it watches the birds fly.

I see the grass as it hides the Earth,
covering it up as it gives birth,
to the countless miracles we call life,
then cutting them away like a merciless knife.

I feel the wind flowing through my bones,
giving me company as I sit alone.
It has flowed endlessly as the eons go by,
accompanying the birds as they soar across the sky.

I see the clouds covering the sky.
I see them hiding the unreachable heights.
I see them pour rain and fire,
their profoundness something we're bound to admire.

I see fields of grass
and buildings of glass.
I see fire and rain,
pouring down with nothing to gain.

I see animals
living their life.
I see them fight
to live another night.

I see myself living worry-free,
lying down on this ancient tree.
I see myself watching the crystal skies,
reliving again days and nights of life.