Sitting on a beautiful hill
I"m often seeing dreams and here are dreams that I've seen
Seems, point is not in money or abundance of women
Or the folklore of old or new wave to swim in
But we keep walking blindly through places weird
And everything we have is our joy and our fear
Fear that we're worse than we're able
And joy that trusty hands are guarding all that is dear
And in each dream
There is no
Way for me
To refuse
And I am running somewhere
But then when I wake up
I am hoping you will be with me
