We speak in verse to hide our words.
We are afraid to meet our days.
The future's here
but still unclear.
I bit my tongue,
I didn't run.
Don't look ahead just to find your death.
Don't count your days just to see them fade.
Don't miss the kiss which now parts your lips.
Don't ask to fly if the ground is your sky.
For the wind and the trees,
for the flowers and the breeze,
for the song we shall sing
it is spring, it is spring.