I cut down my roses
Before someone could take them
I cultivate my fields
After the storm had destroyed them.

And sometimes I play around,
Like the wind in winter times,
Or in the driest deserts and flattest fields,
I let my tears run down my face

I like to free myself sometimes,
Before getting back to sleepless nights,
And I hope that you can do it too,
I know it's not just all on you.