Feeding squirrels and drinking coffee
At the Meditation Park
No one knows this place, that seems to me.
Thousands of three-colored leaves
Form a ground just made of trees
How long can they look this way for?
Now I'm picking references,
Without thinking anyway
To know the altitude more or less.
Well I see the Seymour Mountain
On the other side of the creek
Just in front of me snowy already.
Rotten ships remain anchored
There must be 25 or more
Where do they come from? What do they bring?
Ah, only the air seems real
Ah, not even me, and then
Ah, some remote voices I hear
Ah, only the air
Now a sunbeam falls on me
Warm enough to feel its heat
I guess that now I must go to work
Ah, where do these voices come from
Ah, what do they say?
Ah, only the air
Ah, not even me, not me
