He is a nature guy,
Fish, cuts roses,
Spending his time,
Building houses

Or run a country,
Whatever you wish for,
He would survive anyway,
Such hindsight or fore?

Art is his religion,
He walks away alone,
In the mist,
But he is never on his own

Dance moves,
Empty living room,
I didn't write him,
To be blue

I wish I had met you before,
Now I think it's too late,
You know I had this problem,
Always with timing.