She stands on the edge of her window sill
Two story's high,
She wonders if she will die
For all she wants is to fly
Fly high and away,
She wishes not to stay but go away

If there was away,
Or a push of a bottom,
She would have to nerves to do,
What she has never done
As her feet are on the edge;
she looks up to the sky
And asks why

Why can't I fly?
I have dreams
I wish to achieve
But to afraid to find my way
To afraid to pave my way
So I stay...

She was sitting on her windowsill,

looking at the tree's.

She was sitting on the windowsill,

with her hands between her knee's.

Her mind was at the edge of nowhere,

waiting to be seen.

But nobody came to look for her,

not the clouds, nor the tree's.

Her feet were braced right at the edge,

no longer anyplace to flee.

She was sitting on her windowsill,

thinking how soft the ground looked

way up with the tree's.

Downwards she tumbled,

now she was seen.

She is sitting at her windowsill,

floating with the birds and the bee's.