Monday, February 19, 2007
The Wanderer's SongWandering is the shepherd's sense of direction clear skies dark skies or a rainy dayNever ask whose tears are those tears that flow to the furthest placeThe breeze in September blows at the most hurting part of my heart The dandelion is drifting in the air without any directionIn my dreams you said so softly that you're leaving my world never never shall I see spring againWandering is the shepherd's sense of direction clear skies dark skies or a rainy day
Never ask whose tears are those tears that flow to the furthest placeThe lonely wild forest fire dyes the entire sky an orangish red Where is the corner where I can stop for a restBroken off all contact with the world but can't break off my painFrom now on I let free myself can't find back my smilesWandering is the shepherd's sense of direction clear skies dark skies or a rainy dayDo not ask anymore who should walk towards whom I walk to the furthest place
it's Monday, February 19, 2007 now