We are like flowers
whose stems have tangled
somewhere in the middle
but still on our own paths
growing up and up and up
We are like flowers
whose stems have tangled
somewhere in the middle
but still on our own paths
growing up and up and up
This island
used to bring me
the whispers
of faraway lands
on the backs of
messengers in the breeze
but now
the waves are thicker
clouds heavier
as these whispers pollute
the air I breathe